The Infernal Ring
by SmoochiePooh
Summary: When Will and Jem are kidnapped during a routine investigation of missing Downworlders, they are thrust into an underground boxing circuit. There, they meet Tessa and discover what it means to fight for their lives. An AU in which Mortmain doesn't hold a grudge against the Shadowhunters and never creates the automatons. Instead, he is the owner of a galdiator-like boxing ring.
1. Preface

**Summary: **When_ Will and Jem are kidnapped during a routine investigation of missing Downworlders, they are thrust into a world they never expected to exist and meet the strangest girl they've ever known. An AU in which Mortmain doesn't hold a grudge against the Shadowhunters and never creates the automatons. Instead, he is the owner of a Downworlder galdiator-like boxing ring. _

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><p><em>London <em>

_September 1878_

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><p>The lights were magicked; they were too bright to be torchlight and have somehow managed block out the audience from view, but even so, Tessa Gray can tell that there were hundreds of people here tonight. She couldn't see their faces as she stepped into the ring, but she could hear the roar of their cheers after the Magister announced her name. Some were cheering for her-they're the ones that have placed bets on her winning-but some were shouting obscene things, things that used to make her blush and cringe. Their voices were visceral and cursing her and calling for her death, for her opponent to rip out her entrails, for her opponent to rip off her clothes, it doesn't seem to matter to them as long as she's being ripped apart. Some of the voices aren't even human and the howls, shrieks, and cackles made her skin crawl, even after six months.<p>

She'd been doing this for six months. The realization made her cringe, a reaction she quickly smoothed over into impassiveness. She was getting better at hiding her weaknesses these days. It has kept her alive in the ring. She sent a prayer of thanks to Aunt Harriet for teaching her to hide her tears. Tears were a luxury she cannot afford here.

The lights flashed as her opponent was announced: a werewolf, with a name she doesn't recognize. She can remember when she first arrived here and first learned about the Shadow World. She had been mortified by the volley of new information that was thrown at her: that she shared the world with vampires, werewolves, faeries, warlocks, and demons. Terrifying creatures who were capable of terrifying things. She had spent the first week here paralyzed with fear.

That was before she discovered that _she_ was capable of terrifying things.

The man entered the ring, a savage expression on his face. She was relieved that he's still wearing his human face though. She has never had to fight an actual wolf, but she has seen others training with one and it is not an experience she wants to have. When the man saw that she was his opponent, his savage expression became a sneer. She met his gaze with an even stare of her own, calm in the face of the storm of the ring. Her experiences in this ring have taught her that an even expression and steady eyes unnerves most contenders, and that it works in her favor to unnerve her opponents before the round starts.

She had spent the first two months here training. Learning what she was, how to Change, how to fight. It had been excruciatingly painful and mortifying enough to give her night terrors. Learning how to wear another person's body had been horrible in it's own right, but learning how to fight in that body and knowing, instinctively, the things they knew, responding, instinctively, the way they would have was even worse. She felt things she hadn't thought herself capable of: rage and bloodlust and the kind of fear that forced you to fight instead of run. She hated all of it.

She hated it, but when the first bell rang, she drew on the skills she'd reaped from the others. It's another trick that has kept her alive these past months. They circled each other, each sizing the other up, looking for weaknesses. She made sure that he didn't see any of hers. He snarled and lunged for her. The crowd roared, but she barely heard them over the pulsing of blood in her ears. She blocked his punch and struck him back in the same move. He had underestimated how strong she was and the blow caught him off guard. He reeled back, clutching his cheek, and the members of the audience who have bet on her shriek with delight: she has drawn first blood.

The man's face twisted in rage and he began to throw a volley of punches at her, disregarding the careful approximation of her from moments before. His blows were powerful, but sloppy. She blocked some and allowed others to land on her. The crowds generally loved it when she bled and the one gathered tonight is no exception. When he struck her hard enough to knock her down, she allowed herself stay there for a moment. There was a dull ache in her side from where he struck her, but his blood was on her hand still and she finally used it now.

The ground shook beneath her and she is close enough to the edge of the ring to feel the magic surrounding it throbbing with the crowd's energy as they realize what's happening. The Change rips through her body and her clothes tear as her shoulders broaden and her waist grows. She shrieked in pain, but the sound is drowned out by the crowd. This was what they've come to see after all, and she did not disappoint. The rumors of the shape-changing fighter were true and she was a novelty for them to observe.

When she rose, she could see and feel the man's confusion, but she shoved it back into the recesses of his own mind, not allowing it touch hers. When she hit him, he tried to block her, but weakly. She makes contact with his face. No one has informed him of her ability and he was suddenly afraid. She realized that he was a new werewolf, only recently bitten and her heart ached just a little for him. He had no idea what she was or how this world worked and now he was stuck here with her.

His fear made him just as sloppy as his rage. Now she, on the other hand, wore his very strong body, and while she has none of his rage to power her movement, she had control and precision and the element of surprise. The combination allowed her to win the match easily.

When he lost consciousness, she felt it, and let go of the Change. It shrank into her core and her body belonged to her once again. Her clothes were shredded to ribbons, her ribs ache, and she tasted blood in her mouth. The crowd was in a frenzy and the already too-bright lights flared even brighter now that the round was over. She was dizzy from the aftermath of the Change and the aftermath of the fight. When the Magister appeared in his customary puff of red smoke to take her hand and lift it over her head in victory, he practically had to hold her upright. It made her feel sick to have him touching her and that was enough to force the strength into her legs and spine to keep her from leaning on him until the lights dimmed and he dropped her hand.

When the Dark Sisters collected her and pulled her from the ring, they had to hold her up between them. She doesn't particularly like it when they touch her either, but it's better than having the Magister support her weight and her ribs _hurt_. They were both pleased with her, which means that her fight has brought in a lot of profit. Mrs. Black was saying something about how she was fast becoming quite the main event and how they could start charging double for her fights when Tessa lost consciousness.

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><p><em>October 1878<em>

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><p>"You'd think the Downworlders would learn to be a bit more careful," William Herondale stated as he and his <em>parabatai<em> wander through Billingsgate Market. It's late, and the fish market has long since been closed, but the smell of this morning's catch is still heavy in the air and the cobbles are slick with river water and fish guts. James Carstairs, who has been peering down a dark alley, practically glows amongst the gathering mist, but doesn't look at him when he replies:

"You'd think that the Downworlders would have had a case of demon pox by now if they weren't _already_ being careful. Something's not adding up."

The dark haired boy made a face behind Jem's back and follows him down the alley. "Which is why we are out here for the third time this week. We must prove that demon pox is a real threat before Charlotte and Henry return."

"Or," Jem started as he pushed aside a stack of crates to reveal a door carved with the double _ouroboros_ they'd been looking for. "Perhaps we might, you know, find a clue as to what's happened to the Downworlders who have been going missing these last few months and whether or not their disappearances have anything to do with the Pandemonium Club."

Will withdrew his stele and drew an opening rune, taking his place as lead while Jem covered his back. The door swung open silently, revealing a dark hallway. He put his stele back in his belt and replaced it with a seraphic blade, murmuring its name as he pulled it from the sheath. The blade blazed like lightning, illuminating the corridor before him. The corridor extended only ten feet in front of him and was cool enough inside for the mist to make its way in without vanishing, giving the space an eerie feel. He entered the building warily. Behind him, Jem has drawn his own weapon and added to the light, following him. The corridor leads to a large, but empty, room made entirely of dark brick. There are no windows and no furniture, the mist hangs heavily on the floor.

"Will…"

"I know, I know. It was a false lead. This place hasn't been used for anything in a hundred years.

"No, Will. I think-"

"Damn witches," Will murmured, ignoring his _parabatai_. "Should have known that-"

"Will, goddammit, turn around!"

He spun around in exasperation and nearly dropped his blade in shock. Jem's back was to him and beyond him were at least half a dozen Iblis demons, their teeth glittering in the light of the seraphic blades, rapidly forming from the mist. He recovered quickly, the cold of battle settling over his shoulders like a well-worn jacket. He withdrew a second blade and named it before racing to Jem's side.

Or, at least, that was his intention. The reality of it was that several more demons sprang up from the mist and blocked him from his _parabatai_. In reality, it took him several minutes and half of one of his blades to get to Jem. The trouble of Iblis demons, he decided, was that they were bloody stupid, but were also innumerable. Every time he cut one down, another took it's place.

They don't need to talk to end up back-to-back. It's all instinctual and neither one is surprised to realize that the other is suddenly at his back. They fight beautifully together-both performing opposite sides of a deadly dance they've practiced every day for years. They've fought Iblis demons before and have practically choreographed the steps it takes to kill them. Will considered composing a poem about the experience as he and Jem take turns cutting the arms off one before Jem delivered the death blow, covering them both in a spray of ichor.

Jem was in his element tonight, all silver and blue light as he wielded his cane-sword and seraphic blade in perfect synch. Will recognizes the same cold of battle in his friend's eyes and grins to himself. His brother looked more alive in this moment than he has in ages. The color in his cheeks was healthy, though he was breathing heavily, which concerned Will a bit. However, things had been quiet at the Institute lately, and this was the first real fight they've shared in months and they both relish in it.

They have nearly finished off the Iblis demons when Jem swore, loudly and dropped his sword. There was a moment where the room spun as the light from the blade skittered across the floor and then winked out. Will cut off the head of the demon he was fighting and turned around in the same movement. A Ravener demon had Jem caught up in its grip, his arm twisted painfully behind him as he struggled to free himself.

"Will!" his _parabatai_'s voice was strained. "Behind you!"

He realized too late that the Iblis demons had just been a distraction to keep them too busy to notice the arrival of the Ravener demons. Likewise, Jem's warning was an instant too late. The crack of exoskeleton on bone filled the room as the demon's tail made contact. There was a sharp pain in the back of his head and the last thing he saw was Jem's face stretched in pain before the room went completely dark.


	2. Witchcraft Has Not A Pedigree

_Chapter 1: Witchcraft Has Not a Pedigree_

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><p>Will woke up to a warmth spreading over his skull and the sickeningly sweet scent of magic in his nostrils. When he opened his eyes, all he could see was the man looming over him: middle-aged, graying hair and mustache, and uncannily pale eyes. He was wearing a dark velvet jacket, holding a smoking cigar in one hand and using magic to tend to the wound on Will's head with the other. Will could feel the skin mending and it felt wrong. He'd never been healed with magic before, only with <em>iratzes<em>, and even though he knew warlock magic could be just as effective as angelic runes, he instinctively withdrew from it. The man was smiling broadly at him and speaking in a reverent tone:

"A runed warrior! A Shadowhunter! You're strong, with enhanced balance and agility. And a trained fighter to boot." The man grinned maniacally at him and rose to his feet. "Welcome to the Pandemonium Club."

Will stood too and took in his surroundings. He was in some sort of training room. Underground, without any sources of natural light, only torches to illuminate the space. There were a few rows of bunk beds, some with people in or leaning against them. There was an empty space in the middle of the room, with a circle drawn inside it. In the circle, there was a set of vampires sparring in the center and several more watching around the edges.

"Since the game's inception, no audience has ever seen a Shadowhunter compete," the man continued. " You," he said, pointing at Will, "are going to be a _very _popular attraction."

Will ignored him as he realized that his _parabatai_ was not in the room. "Where is Jem?"

"Ah, your silver companion!" The man winced, "I'm afraid he was badly injured when we acquired you."

Will felt a knot of fear tighten in his stomach for the first time. "I want to see him. Now," he growled.

The man's grin returned, even more broad than the first. "Of course! You'll learn quickly that _nothing_ is more important to me than the comfort and happiness of my fighters." He gestured to a burly man standing just behind him and the man vanished from the room without a word.

"Oh yes," said a feminine voice from a sofa in a corner. He couldn't make out her face in the shadows. "You'll find the Magister to be quite generous." And then she laughed softly, a sound that was echoed by the others in the room.

"Quiet!" the man, the Magister, growled back and Will saw a terrifying fire in his eyes. When he spoke again, he was addressing Will and his voice was like honey. "Don't mind her, she's...envious of the attention you'll receive in the ring."

"The Magister?" Will asked, his eyebrows raised. "Pray tell, what are you the master of?"

"Why, the Pandemonium Club itself! The most prestigious boxing ring in Europe." The man's enthusiasm was beginning to make Will want to hit him. "I am Axel Mortmain, aptly named the Magister because this," he swept his arms wide, "is my kingdom."

"Well, master or not, I have no intention of participating in whatever you've got going on here," Will said firmly.

"Aggressive," Mortmain cooed, a smile lighting his face again. "I like that."

Just then, two absurdly burly men appeared, Jem strung up like a doll between them. He looked far, far worse than Will felt, as his wounds were yet untreated, some of them still bleeding. Will pulled him from the men and put Jem in the bed he'd just vacated, where his _parabatai_ fell, practically unconscious.

"He needs medical attention!" Will cried, looking around desperately for his stele, for something that could be used for a bandage, anything.

"That can be arranged," Mortmain said, looking on with a bored expression.

'Well then arrange it, goddammit."

"You haven't won a single round and already you're making demands like you're a champion." Mortmain was chuckling and Will felt his face begin to burn with rage.

"Will you treat him or not?" he managed to grind out from between clenched teeth, not looking away from Jem's face.

"Will you fight?" Mortmain's voice was so hard and that Will was momentarily taken aback.

Jem's eyes flew open at this and he protested, his voice coming out hoarse and strained, "No, Will! My injuries are not severe. I'll be-" he grimaced, "-fine."

"Spoken like a true competitor!" Mortmain beamed. "Willing to ignore his injuries for the sake of the contest. Schedule a bout for him!" His pale eyes gleam with an evil light. "A red match."

A murmur went through the room. One of the men that had brought Jem in moved to comply and only then did Will look up, his face drawn in anger. Before he could move to block the man's path, the voice from the sofa was speaking again:

"A red match doesn't end until one of the competitors is dead." The body attached to the voice stood up and Will saw that the speaker was a beautiful girl, about his age. She looked directly at him and her grey eyes were grave as she spoke, "Your friend would not survive."

"But _you_ might," Mortmain said with another twisted smile.

"Give him a blue match," the girl suggested, now addressing the Magister, her voice suddenly icy. "You wouldn't want to lose your new favorite in his first fight."

Mortmain's eyes narrowed and he gave the girl a sidelong glance. She didn't flinch away from him, as the others in the room did. He considered her words and then looked back at Will. "Yes," he said, his voice still sickeningly pleasant, "we will start you off slowly."

Will looked at Jem, who had fallen unconscious and felt resolve tighten in his gut. "Help him, and I will do whatever you ask of me."

Mortmain's laughter at his acquiescence was a cackle. He was already halfway to the door, knowing full well what Will's reply was going to be. "Prepare him," he called over his shoulder before he exited the room in a flourish, the two burly men in his wake.

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><p>Tessa wasn't particularly good at magic. The Dark Sisters had only taught her to manipulate the Change. She hadn't even realized that she was capable of other magic beyond it until the Magister had employed another warlock fighter. He'd called himself Arthuro, though he'd argued that he was too old to remember his whole name. The violet-skinned man was kinder to her than she'd deserved. He had taught her, among other simple spells, how to heal herself with magic. When the Magister had discovered the ability, he'd sent the warlock to a red match. Arthuro had not returned and she hadn't used magic since, allowing the Dark Sisters to heal her instead, as the Magister wished. She'd never tried to heal anyone else.<p>

But the silver boy on the cot was so horribly beaten. The way he was breathing made her think that he had at least a few ribs broken, and possibly more internal damage. She thought of the way the other Shadowhunter, his friend, had responded to the threat of him in a match. She knew instinctively that he'd do anything for the silver boy in the bed and she'd seen that the Magister knew it too. It made her sick to think that the Magister would continue to hold him as leverage over the head of the Shadowhunter. She was all too familiar with the way the Magister wielded his leverage.

She glanced around. Most of the other fighters were gone-it was a fight night and nearly all of them were in the lineup. She was alone in the common room. Not that it mattered. When the Magister or one of his cronies discovered that the silver boy was healed, they would know it was her.

She found that she didn't really care.

She took a steadying breath and began to recite the incantation Arthuro had taught her. She felt the magic coming to life in her veins and smiled a little in spite of herself. She loved knowing she had this power. Energy sizzled in her fingertips and buzzed in her ears. She knelt next to the boy and tentatively laid her fingers against a bruise on his cheek. His face was hot and she felt a pang of worry-fever meant an infection. But as the bruise faded beneath her fingers, she grew more confident. She moved her fingers to a cut at his temple that was still seeping blood and probed her magic a little further, suspecting that there was a concussion beneath the blood. It took a little more concentration to heal this one and she prayed to the God she no longer believed in that she was doing this right.

She willed herself not to blush, to be detached. Of all the things she'd experienced while she was here, she hadn't yet managed to see a shirtless man. The Magister preferred his fighters to dress modestly, as the ones he'd been inspired by in China had. She told herself that this was purely academic and moved her fingers to the buttons at his throat, easing them open to reveal the wounds his shirt hid. Her breath left her in a soft gasp as she revealed the pale skin laced with dark marks beneath the material. She stared in wonder, all notions of embarrassment forgotten, trying to recall what she'd heard about Shadowhunters, which hadn't been much. She was both taken aback and entranced by the strange beauty of them.

Without realizing she'd done it, her fingers had drifted to trace over the one on his collar, just above his heart. She was entranced by the way the dark lines seemed to be etched into his skin and wanted to see whether or not there was an indentation in his skin too. When the boy's hand moved at lightning speed to grab her wrist, she started and nearly shrieked, a reaction she thought she'd long forgotten.

"Where's Will?" he asked, and, though his voice was weak, his grip on her strong. "Who are you?"

"Please lay still. You're hurt." Her voice came out so softly that it actually surprised her. "My name is Tessa." She remembered, belatedly, that in modern society one introduced oneself with one's full name. "Theresa Gray." She tried to gently pull her wrist away from him, but he clung to her so tightly, it was almost painful. "I'm just trying to help you."

"Where's Will?" he gasped as he tried to sit up. His eyes were enormously dilated, and she feared that he was hurt far worse than she'd anticipated. She schooled her expression into something calm and tried to smile at him.

"Lay back down and I'll tell you."

He regarded her silently for a long moment and, for the first time in months, she thought about her appearance. For a brief second, she wondered if her face was still her own. He must have trusted whatever he saw there, because he relaxed his grip and laid back down with a sharp exhale. She did her best to look confident and reassuring.

"Your friend went to the ring." He immediately began to rise and she had to press him back into the mattress with both hands. "He'll be fine," she quickly added. "Blue matches do not end in death. Even if he loses, he will live. I promise you, he'll be fine. Please lay still."

This time he fell back onto the mattress because he simply had no energy left. His hand slid from her arm and fell limply to his side. She tried to concentrate on her magic again, but he was watching her with his colorless eyes and it was unnerving. She frowned and focused on the bruising on his side. He reached his hand yet again to stop her before she touched him. It occurred to her that he was the only person who'd touched her outside of the ring in months, but she brushed the thought away.

"My ankle sheath," his voice was gritty with pain. "I can heal myself with the stele."

She had no idea what he was talking about, but went to his feet and rolled his pant legs up anyway. As he'd said, strapped to his right leg was sheath containing a knife and a slim silver wand. She slipped both from the sheath and offered them to him. With shaking hands, he took the wand from her. Instinctively, she reached to support his arm and he was so intent on his work that he didn't seem to notice her touch.

She watched in fascination as he carved a mark into the skin just above the bruising she was trying to heal. It's lines were both intricate and simple and like nothing she'd ever seen before. It was beautiful, she thought, and terrifying at the same time. She was so engrossed in her observation that she didn't pay attention his face, and was shocked for the second time that day when he fell unconscious, the stele dropping to his stomach as his hand lost its strength above where her fingers held it.

She carefully picked the tool up and examined it, then examined the skin across his stomach. It concerned her briefly to see how his ribs and hip bones jutted out from beneath his ivory skin, but she was too intent on her task to let that distract her. There was a scattering of scars across his torso, and near every one was a faded version of the mark he'd just drawn, confirming the idea forming in her head.

He'd marked just above his bruised side, where she sensed the internal damage was located, but he hadn't given his broken ribs attention. She debated the idea of using her magic on him again, but uncertainty gnawed at her, ruining her confidence. Not that she felt particularly confident in her ability to heal him with the stele either, but at least it was magic designed for his Shadowhunter physiology.

With another deep breath, she put the stele to his skin.

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><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>Tessa's magic is influenced partially by a line in The Midnight Heir, and partially by ashesandhoney's amazing work in The Infernal War. Tessa's ability to use a stele also comes from ashesandhoney's The Infernal War.

Just wanted to say thanks to my sweet Random reviewer, who I can't thank via PM. I appreciate you taking the time to review!


	3. The Tiger in His Lair

Chapter 2: The Tiger in His Lair

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><p>Magnus Bane, as a general rule, was not a fan of blood sports. They were older than he was, but, even as a young man, they had never held any appeal for him. He'd been forced into attendance tonight by Camille Belcourt, who had, in turn, been obliged to attend after a run in with Alexi De Quincey. It occurred to him that Camille was often the source of the reasons he had to do so many unsavory things lately. The Pandemonium Club was just the latest in a string of unpleasantness that came with her recent attempts get back in De Quincey's good graces.<p>

He schooled his expression into one of boredom as he and Camille took their seats in De Quincey's box. Mercifully, the head of the London vampire clan was not here tonight, but he didn't doubt that De Quincey had people in the audience who would report on their behavior. Better that the vampire think Magnus was disinterested rather than disgusted by this newest business venture. They were fashionably tardy, as was her custom, and she was explaining the rules and structure of the games in a voice that he could barely hear over the crowds' cheers as they watched the match that was in progress. It was a testament to her knowledge of him that she knew without Magnus saying so that this was, indeed, the first time he'd ever graced an establishment like this with his presence.

"There are two types of matches, red and blue," she was saying. It depressed him ever so slightly that Camille knew the ins and outs of these ugly things well enough to explain them to him. But she was wearing the most lovely shirtwaist tonight and it almost made up for it. "The red matches are continuous and only end in the death of one of the competitors. The blue matches have three rounds, but they end when a competitor is declared unconscious. The Pandemonium Club, of course, don't follow the Marquess of Queens' rules, which are far more civilized." She sniffed in the direction of the ring. "Apparently, anything goes in the Magister's ring."

"Tell me about his champions," Magnus said, attempting to appear interested and divert the conversation away from what 'anything' might entail. "I've heard he employs a variety of Downworlders."

"Quite, although I'm not sure if 'employs' is the correct term. More like, indentured servants. Although," and now Camille leaned closer to him, dropping her voice in spite of the fact that the audience was roaring loudly enough that he'd barely been able to hear her before, "there are rumors that some of them have been kidnapped and forced to fight."

He felt a little sick at the notion. She squeezed his arm gently, and leaned back, pasting a faux smile onto her lips. She must have sensed the presence of one of De Quincey's spies. "Now hush with your silly questions." Her tone was light, but he understood the implied warning. "The next match is about to start."

So Magnus hushed and tried seem engaged in the matter at hand. Not that he really believed that anyone in attendance was paying attention to the two of them, but it was better to be safe than sorry, especially when vampires were involved. The crowd had whipped itself into a frenzy during the last match and the master of ceremonies was doing his best to rile them up even further.

Above the roar of the crowd, the compère began to wax on about the next contenders. Magnus tried not to roll his eyes and took stock of the attendees of the event. There were a few faces he recognized, but most were either new Downworlders or the sort of mundane business men who thought themselves more successful for having been a part of the magical world. They all were buzzing with bloodlust.

"-and in this corner, the Magister's newest addition. You're in for a treat tonight, ladies and gentleman. He's young. He's strong. He's a trained warrior. He's a Shadowhunter and this is his debut event . . ."

Magnus didn't hear the rest of the Shadowhunter's introduction. Camille's nails dug into the sleeve of his jacket and held him in place, though he could tell by the set of her mouth that she was just as startled as he was by the announcement.

"It can't be," she said in a voice only he could hear. "I'm sure it's just a mundane painted up like one."

They both tensed as the contender appeared in the ring while the crowd, who he'd thought couldn't possibly get any louder, became deafening at the sight of him. They were too far away for Magnus to be able to make out any identifying features, but he was dressed in a Shadowhunter's black gear and his stance was definitely Nephilimlike.

Camille, though, could see the ring perfectly and let out a low hiss. Magnus gave her a weighted look. She rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers impatiently at her subjugate, a ghastly little creature she called Walker. The man rushed to produce a pair of theater glasses from his jacket pocket and presented them to her with a small bow. She spared him a brief smile and the small man responded with a smile that was nearly beatific.

While her expression was outwardly bored, Magnus could tell that she was deeply shocked, perhaps even a little afraid. He hurriedly raised the glasses to his eyes and felt his stomach clench. There was indeed a Shadowhunter in the ring. Even worse, this was a Shadowhunter Magnus knew:

"William Herondale," he breathed.

Camille nodded in agreement. He hadn't seen the boy since helping him break a nonexistent curse some months back, but he'd seen enough of the beautiful Shadowhunter then to never be able to forget him. Through the glasses, he could see that the boy's face was set in a terrifying grimace and that the gear he wore was already in torn and bloodstained from a battle fought earlier. He seemed to be well enough though. If the said previous battle had hurt him, it didn't show. Though he had just been struck by the vampire who shared the ring with him, which didn't bode well.

They watched the fight in well-concealed horror, because there was nothing else they could do. Both had connections at the Institute and a history with its inhabitants other than Will Herondale. While Magnus suspected that he liked the Nephilim who lived there better overall, Camille held a rare affection for Charlotte Branwell. Seeing one of her charges in this environment was very unsettling.

The boy-Shadowhunter and the vampire were almost equally matched and the first round passes without either one doing the other damage. But by the middle of the second round, Magnus had begun to grow concerned. The vampire naturally had the advantage when it came to healing and William Herondale hadn't been Marked before his fight. The permanent runes like Angelic Power and Agility were still effective, but without strength or speed Marks, he was more susceptible. And, of course, he had not been able to apply iratzes. By the end of the second round, the vampire was essentially unharmed and the Shadowhunter likely had a few broken ribs and a split lip. Every time the boy was struck, the crowd went wild.

The third round was very short. The bell rang and the vampire let loose a volley of punches. Will managed to block most of them, but was hit enough to begin to sway. The vampire, sensing an opportunity, moved at lightning speed and clocked the unsuspecting Nephilim across the back of the head. The boy fell flat on his face as the crowd roared in appreciation.

It was all Magnus could do to stay still as he watched the Magister's stagehands clear Will's body from the ring and sweep it in preparation for the next match. Camille's soft voice reassured him that it was a blue match, and thus, the boy would be fine, and that they couldn't leave, lest they draw attention to themselves. So Magnus drew a small notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket and sat patiently through the next match, scrawling a line or two every time the crowd went wild. By the time the matched ended, he'd given a piece of paper to Walker and sent him to the Institute.

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><p>Will woke to the burn of a stele on his skin. The same girl that saved Jem and put him in the ring was kneeling beside his bed, frowning in concentration as she traced the shape of an iratze above his rib cage. His whole face throbbed and he could tell that he had several bruised ribs, but other than that, he seemed to be intact.<p>

"I'm getting damn tired of waking up like this," he said around a swollen lip.

"Quiet." Her voice was not unkind, though the frown remained on her face as she pulled away from him, setting the stele down beside him on the bed. "You'll rip your lip open again."

"You should be helping Jem," he said as he tried to pull himself up and away from her.

She raised her eyes to bunk above his as she put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. "I already have. He's sleeping now."

"Why are you helping us?" he asked, ignoring the pressure of her hand and sitting up. She looked at her hand, still on his chest, like it doesn't belong to her before dropping it quickly and pulling back. He found that he was amused by the way a faint blushed stained her cheeks.

"I'm not done helping you, actually," she murmured. She took his face firmly in her hands and her blush deepened. Warmth seeped from her fingertips and he realized, to his great confusion, that she was using magic to heal him. Being healed by her magic was completely different from Mortmain's and he relaxed into her touch without realizing it. And then it was suddenly gone and she'd grabbed the stele and bolted halfway across the room.

Mortmain entered, flanked by his two lackeys. "I wanted to be the first to congratulate you," he said, beaming.

Will raised his eyebrows. "I lost."

"Yes! You did!" Mortmain's eyes gleamed with an icy fire. "And every time my man laid a blow, the crowd went wild! Do you have any idea the kind of animosity Downworlders hold towards Shadowhunters? Already, we're getting hundreds of requests to see you fight again."

"He needs time to recuperate," The girl interrupted him from across the room, her voice using the same bored tone from earlier. "To prepare for the next match. The silver one too."

"I couldn't agree more!" Mortmain's delight was palpable and it made Will feel nauseous. "I've already begun plans for a red match next month, the Shadowhunters versus a champion of my choosing." His smile grew dark. "I'll inform you of the details as the date draws closer." And with that he turned to leave.

"Magister, it would be wise" the girl started, and this time her voice was silky, "to give them their own quarters." Mortmain stopped and gave her an even look. She met his stare levelly. It was such a strange change from the way she'd spoken before that Will stared in spite of himself. When she continued, her voice was so soft it was almost a caress. "It's not safe for them here in the common barracks, not with so many Shadowhunter-hating Downworlders."

"Ah, Tessa, my dear, of course you are correct." She smiled a little at that and Mortmain's eyes glinted. "They can have yours!"

He bestowed another sickening smile on the girl, Tessa, who stared at him dumbfounded, before turning to Will. "Collect your friend. Tessa will show you to appropriate quarters." He chuckled as he moved to leave. At the door, he paused an looked back at Will, and, as if sharing a delightful secret, stage-whispered: "If three hundred people paid to see you hurt, just imagine how many will pay to see you die…"

Rage washed over him and a thousand sarcastic responses danced across his tongue. But above that, there was a strange sense of dread at the man's words that left him washed in goose flesh. He glared at the door for a full minute before the girl spoke:

"Shall we?"

She watched silently as he woke Jem. His wounds were healed, as she'd said, but Will could tell that he desperately need a dose of yin fen and he had to lean heavily on Will in order to remain upright. Tessa watched them appraisingly for a moment before taking Jem's other arm and pulling it over her shoulder. His parabatai was barely conscious and couldn't even make a sound to protest.

"This way," she said, directing them down a different hall

They were followed by one of Mortmain's lackeys, but the man maintained almost a discreet distance, as if he was merely a chaperone and not guard dog. They had to move slowly and Will was disheartened to discover that she was leading them through a series of stone tunnels. He cursed mentally. He could not get them out of here unless he knew where they were at and the surrounding geology did him no good. He was about to ask her about it, when she spoke:

"I can help you." She was looking straight ahead and her voice was soft, almost shy. Another facet to her odd personality. "I've been here for months. I know his fighters. I can train you, help you win."

"We have no intention of participating in his games," Will replied, speaking for Jem as well. "Our only intentions are to survive until we are rescued."

At that, she stopped and looked at him around Jem's sagging frame. She was tall, though not so tall that she could quite look him in the eye. There was a strange vulnerability in her expression as she looked up into his eyes. In the flickering torchlight, he could see that her eyes were grey, like the sea before a storm.

"What makes you think that there's a difference between a survivor and a winner here?" she asked, and there was a hardness in her tone that chased away the vulnerability and shyness that had been there before. He didn't have a chance to respond. She'd ducked out from under Jem's arm. "There's a room just beyond this tunnel. You ought to find it to your liking."

And without another word, she spun around and walked back the way they'd come.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Thanks ever so much to Marie E. Brooke for hunting down those pesky verb tense issues and helping me improve my content at the same time. If you like AU's, her new story is fabulous.<em>

_Also, thank you to my two Guest reviewers, who I can't respond to via PM. I appreciate your taking the time to read my work and leave a review!_


	4. For a Charm of Powerful Trouble

_Chapter 3: For a Charm of Powerful Trouble_

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><p>At the very least, Will couldn't fault Tessa for a lack of books. Her very loose interpretation of a room was little more than a cave within the larger cave, though it had been dressed up to look like something between a personal gymnasium and a lady's bedroom. The walls and floor were made of smooth granite, and the ceiling was so high he couldn't see where it stopped. There was absolutely nothing personal in the room aside from the books. Those she had in abundance and were arranged in neat stacks next to her bed, piled at the foot of the chaise that sat near a fireplace that'd been carved into the wall, and strewn across the small table where he assumed she took her meals. There had been one, still open, laying on the bed, waiting for her to return when he'd half-carried Jem into the room.<p>

In the moment, he'd tossed the book aside to lay his _parabatai_ down, not giving a damn about her place or the fact that it had landed askew and bent several pages. Jem had regained consciousness long enough to show Will that Tessa had stuffed the stele into his pocket and Will had nearly wept with relief. Jem lost consciousness again when Will began to apply healing Marks, desperately trying to recall the correct combinations of _iratzes_ and stamina and mendelin runes that the Silent Brothers had showed him would help Jem long ago.

Now, though, Jem had been unconscious for hours. Or maybe for a day. It was hard to tell here in the belly of the earth. In any case, there was nothing he could do for his _parabatai _except dab the sweat from his brow and wait. He told himself it was no different than any number of similar situations they'd endured before at the Institute. Minus, of course, the help of the Silent Brothers, Charlotte's calm and steadying presence, or Sophie's ability to bring him what he needed to help Jem before he realized he needed it. Sometimes he thought Jem recovered, not from the amount of the drug in his system, but from the power of the love of the people tending for him. He wondered if Jem would recover still now that is was only Will to love him into health.

In an attempt to distract himself from the fact that Jem desperately needed his medicine and that there was no medicine to give him, Will had picked up the book he'd carelessly tossed aside earlier from where it landed on the floor and smoothed the bent pages. Tessa had been reading Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_, a choice thought fitting given the situation they were in. As he smoothed the pages down, he saw that there were notes, written in a careful hand, in the margins and some of the pages were dog-eared. He'd read the book before, but reading her notes made him rethink the story in such a way that some of his gnawing worry about Jem abated ever so slightly as he became engrossed in the epistles and her commentary. He dragged the single chair in the room over to the side of the bed, put his feet up, and determined to reread the novel.

* * *

><p>"Enjoying my book?"<p>

Will started at her voice, the Angel's blood in his veins the only thing that kept his long limbs from flying in every direction and nearly upsetting the chair. Tessa was standing in the doorway with a tray in her hands and a bemused expression on her face. Will stood and groaned as every muscle protested after spending the night sleeping in a wooden chair.

"How is he?" she asked, making her way through the room to set the tray on the small table in front of the chaise and ignoring Will's groan. He watched in confusion as she sat the tray down and lit the fire with a stream of sparks from her fingertips. As a finishing touch, she clapped her hands and the sconces in the walls brightened considerably.

"That's better," she said as spun around to face him, but her small smile died on her lips when she saw Jem laying impossibly still and horribly pale on her bed.

"What's wrong with him?" she whispered, suddenly grave.

"He needs his medicine." Will said, trying to shove down the horrid fear that was creeping up the back of his throat as wakefulness returned. "He'll die without it."

"Ah," she said softly, realization dawning on her face. "I heard about that, but I didn't think it was true..." she murmured as she selected a small packet from the tray and neatly tossed it to him. "Here."

Will caught the packet in midair and nearly wept in relief when he opened it and saw the shimmering powder it contained. He didn't question how she'd obtained it. He didn't wonder at the oddity of this girl who could draw runes, perform warlock magic, and manage to procure drugs. He forgot everything else except for Jem as he knelt on the bed, pried his _parabatai_'s mouth open, and dumped a small heap of the stuff inside. Jem's back arched off the bed and he moaned, but Will held his mouth closed until he felt Jem swallow.

"Water." He demanded and within moments, Tessa was at his side with a pitcher. Will took the cloth he'd been dabbing Jem's forehead with and wet it before putting it to Jem's cracked lips. He was too weak to drink, but he licked at his lips feebly.

Will repeated this action several more times before he was satisfied, then sat back on his heels and sighed with relief. The drug meant Jem would live, and she'd brought him enough for several more doses. The tension he'd been wearing like a cloak slipped from his shoulders and he let out a sigh that was half a sob.

"Thank you," he said without looking at her, instead arranging the blankets more tightly around Jem's sleeping body. "You've saved his life. Twice now."

"It was nice to do something that actually helped someone," she said and the way she said it was enough to make Will tear his gaze from his best friend's face and look at her. She wore an expression of immeasurable sadness masked by a slight smile. "Will he be alright?"

"Now that he's had his medicine, yes, I think so."

"How did he become addicted?"

He hated how blunt her question was. It was hard for him to think of Jem as an addict. Ill, yes, but addict was such an ugly word. Although, her voice held none of the accusation that was normally associated with people asking about Jem's condition. That alone made him soften towards her even more. But if there was one thing he knew to let Jem handle, it was the issue of his illness.

"That's something that you'll have to ask him." Her eyes shifted towards where Jem lay on her bed, now resting peacefully, and she nodded almost to herself before moving back towards the door.

"I hope that he feels better soon. I brought food too," she said, gesturing towards the the tray on the table. "You should eat. And then get some rest yourself."

"Where will you go?" Will asked.

She paused at the doorway, but didn't turn to look at him. "There are plenty of beds in the main room."

He felt a pang of guilt now that he knew Jem was going to get better. She had only been trying to help them and she'd lost her room, and likely her privacy, maybe even her safety, in the process. He didn't relish the thought that this girl had been displaced and was forced to interact with the Downworlders he'd seen in the main room because of him.

"At least stay until he wakes up? I'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind."

She turned around, but hesitated the doorway. Her face was half shadowed by the door and half lit by the now brightly burning sconces in the room. It reminded him of her strange abilities, of how she was able to do warlock magic and draw angelic runes, of how she seemed to be both of the light and the darkness.

"Besides," he added, "you've brought far too much food. I couldn't possibly eat it all alone."

At this, she smiled and joined him in the light. "What do you want to know?"

she asked as she sank onto the chaise. She delicately tucked her feet beneath her billowing skirts, looking, for all the world, like a small flower growing out of the smooth granite of the floor. Another juxtaposition personified. He couldn't help but stare at her. She raised her eyebrows expectantly and he snapped out of her spell.

"Where are we exactly?"

She shrugged her slight shoulders and poured herself a cup of tea from the tray in front of them. " Please, eat," she said, motioning to the tray, He pulled the chair up to the other side of the table and helped himself to a sandwich. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he'd finished the entire thing in four bites. She smiled as she watched him eat and poured him a cup of tea as well.

"In answer to your question, I wish I knew," she said after he'd drank the cup in one gulp and started in on another sandwich.

His shoulders slumped and she rushed to continue. "I do know that there's not much beyond this room. A few caverns like this, that have been transformed into private living quarters, and some other tunnels, but they've been magicked with some sort of invisible wall. Everyone who comes here comes with the Magister's teleportation ring."

"Like he used to get us to the match?"

She nodded, "Exactly. I know that his establishment, the Pandemonium Club

is in London, and he keeps us here for security. Anyone who leaves these caves goes by holding onto him when he uses the ring. And I've only ever left this cave for fights."

"God damn," Will said, then flushed, years of Charlotte's admonitions for swearing in polite company ringing in his ears. "Beg pardon."

At this, she threw back her head and laughed out loud. Unlike her laughter in the training room, this was merry and bright and entirely incongruent to their current circumstances. He couldn't help smiling, even if he had no idea what was so funny.

"I'm sorry," she said as she calmed. "It's just-It's been months since anyone apologized to me for anything and for you to apologize to me for _swearing_..." she laughed again. "It was just unexpected. I apologize."

He felt a little sick at the thought that she hadn't been treated like the lady she so obviously was. It made him even more curious as to how she had ended up here and why. "How long have you been here?"

Her dancing grey eyes sobered quickly. "Six months, two weeks, and three days."

Will grimaced at the thought. He couldn't imagine spending six months without the sun or fresh air. He felt rage bubbling just beneath the surface at the idea of her experiencing fights like he had the night before for more than six months. The vampire he'd fought had been terrifyingly brutal and half-starved. He didn't know why, but he felt strangely protective of this walking juxtaposition of a girl. She seemed strong, yes, but there had been a vulnerability to her that made the idea of her in the ring repulsive to him.

"How?" was the only question he could form.

"I am an orphan," she started, her fingers drifting to a necklace that hung around her neck that he hadn't noticed before. "When my guardian, my aunt, died, I left New York-"

"City?" he interrupted.

"Mmmhm," her eyes got wistful. "I thought I was leaving for a new life, that Nate, my brother and the reason I came here, had changed, that we could start over."

"That wasn't the case?"

"No," she snorted. "He had unbelievable gambling debts. There was no way he could possibly pay them off. Mortmain approached him and offered to pay them off, in exchange for me."

"For you?" Will was incredulous at the thought. "And your brother agreed?"

"He had no choice," Tessa explained in the same tone of voice one would use to say "the sky is blue." It was unnerving and upsetting. "It was either that or have his creditors beat his debt out of him. He could have even died."

"So he agreed to let you take the beating for him. Repeatedly." Will felt irrationally angry, though he couldn't figure out if it was because of her unnatural acceptance of her circumstances or if it was at her coward of a brother. He gritted his teeth. Usually, when he was this angry, he hit things. He clenched his fists and tried taking a deep breath instead.

She was looking at him like he was a strange animal she'd never encountered before. When she spoke, it was in the same calm little voice. "I am different. I have survived the ring," she met his gaze evenly and smiled, but it wasn't the smile that went with her laughter. This was a warrior's cold smile in the face of battle. "Repeatedly."

He stared at her for a long moment. Her calm acceptance of her fate had him reeling in confusion and anger. He knew plenty of strong women. But women like Charlotte Branwell and his own mother had chosen their paths to strength willingly. He couldn't imagine either of them being forced into a situation like this and being able to calmly discuss it over tea.

"Is that how the others ended up here?" he asked, not sure how to continue the previous conversation.

"Some," she answered with a nod, the warrior's coldness falling away. "Others were kidnaped, like you. Some fight for their vices. A few are actually here because they chose to be."

"And how is it that you ended up with your own quarters?"

"I wasn't safe before. The Magister kept me here to, in his own sick way, protect me."

"And you're safer now?" He couldn't believe that at all. "What changed?"

She looked him, her head cocked and a wry smile playing across her lips. Whereas before, she'd been looking at him like he was a strange animal, now she was looking at him like he was a small child she was indulging. When she spoke, her voice was caught between a lover's whisper and a growl:

"I did."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Many thanks to my lovely reviewers, especially to my Guest reviewer for loving my concept and for revieiwng even though I can't PM you in response. :)


	5. None of Beauty's Daughters

_Chapter 4: There Be None of Beauty's Daughters/With a Magic Like Thee_

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><p>Jem woke in stages. His stomach twisting with hunger and a bone-deep ache in his joints were the first things he became aware of, followed closely by the lightness in his head and the dryness in his mouth. Then he opened his eyes and realized he wasn't in his bed at the Institute and panicked as fragments of memories came back to him: the dead end lead, the Iblis demon attack, the girl drawing <em>iratzes<em> on his skin, nearly choking on a mouthful of _yin fen _while Will's panicked face hovered over him,. He sat up with a start when he thought of Will and scanned the room wildly for his _parabatai_.

Jem didn't have to look far to find him, but what he saw made him wonder if he'd finally taken too much of his drug, for there were two Wills, one in Nephilim gear and one in what appeared to have once been a dress, though it was rather torn, so it was hard to tell. Stranger yet, the two Wills were currently engaged in a wrestling match. The Will wearing gear seemed to have the upper hand, until the one in the dress used a move that Jem himself had taught Will to pin the Will in gear to the ground. It was then that the Will in the dress noticed Jem watching them in a sort of fascinated horror and let out the most un-Will-like yelp. At this, the Will in the gear took the opportunity to toss the other Will off of him, sending that Will flying into the wall behind them. When the Will in the dress stayed slumped against the wall, and the other one let out a triumphant crow.

It was only then that the triumphant Will noticed Jem. Instantly, his victory was forgotten and all his bravado dropped as he rushed to Jem's side. At least this never changed, Jem thought. He'd woken up to one of the strangest things he'd ever seen, and he still was unsure as to whether or not he was hallucinating, but as Will's hand wrapped around his, he knew everything would work out.

"Jem," his _parabatai_ said. Jem noted, with some amusement, that Will was winded. Apparently, fighting with himself had taken a lot out of him. "How do you feel?"

"Better than whoever that is," Jem said, motioning to the figure in the dress, which was slowly righting itself.

Will looked over his shoulder and swore, "Tessa!" he glanced back at Jem and grimaced, "just a moment, James."

He sprinted lightly from Jem's side and across the room to kneel next to the other Will. Except that the person in the dress wasn't Will any longer. If Jem had thought he'd been hallucinating before, he was certain of it now. Where the other Will had been just seconds earlier, there was now a girl, pushing the sleeve of her ripped dress up onto her shoulder as Will helped her from the ground.

She turned to look at him and when he saw her large grey eyes, memories flooded back to him. He remembered waking to her hands on his face and the way she'd traced the _parabatai _rune on his chest. He'd made her to tell him her name then. Tessa. Theresa Gray. She had helped him with warlock magic and angelic runes. He remembered how she bit her lip in concentration as she helped him draw an _iratze _on his chest. What a strange girl.

Stranger yet, she seemed no worse for the wear, though she had been tossed into a solid granite wall. Will, on the other hand, appeared to be mortified that he'd done such a thing to a lady and was apologizing profusely. She waved Will off when he tried to offer her his arm and marched over to the bed, Will hot at her heels.

"James, this is-"

"Miss Gray," Jem said. "We've met before."

"How are you feeling?' she asked and he tried not to cringe. It never ceased to amaze him how people fixated on his illness. He forced himself to remember that she was just being kind and that it would appear that they needed all the allies they could get. He told himself to smile as he replied, "A little hungry, actually. Also very confused."

"Of course you are," she said. "I'll fetch you something for you to eat and give Will a chance to explain what's going on, you must have a lot of questions." She smiled at him and turned to leave. Jem waited until she was out of the room to turn to Will and raise his eyebrows.

"Now, you white devil, why don't you explain to me what the hell is going on?"

Will was already across the room, pouring water into a glass. From his place in the bed, Jem could see the silver of the powder as it dissolved into the water and his pulse quickened, even though his head was repulsed by the ease with which his _parabatai_ handled his drug. "I'll tell you after you take more of your medicine."

"Where did _that_ come from?" Jem said with a frown as Will handed him the glass.

"Tessa," Will said simply, as if that explained everything. "She's been very helpful. Now, drink up."

Jem had no strength to resist Will today and accepted the glass in consternation, draining it in one gulp. He felt the effects of the drug almost immediately thereafter, pulsing like fire in his veins. It was a bittersweet relief for his aching joints and he hated it. "There, it's gone. Now tell me everything."

And Will did. Some of it, Jem vaguely remembered happening, though as if he'd experienced it from within a dream. He was horrified to hear about Will's experience in the ring and immensely grateful to Tessa for helping him afterwards, but he couldn't help but interrupt as Will was explaining the circumstances surrounding her presence at the Pandemonium Club.

"What was all that? Before, I mean, when I first woke up?"

"She said that she can become a different person, just by holding onto something that belongs to them, and then read their thoughts. That's what makes her so valuable to Mortmain. She can literally become any fighter in the ring _and_ fight like them." Will's eyes darkened suddenly. "Apparently, there's also a lot of novelty surrounding the fact that she's just a little slip of a thing too. The Downworlders pay plenty to see her fight."

Jem was as put off by the idea of people paying to see her bleed as his _parabatai_ was and quickly changed the subject. "And she was fighting you because…?"

"Well,"Will grinned now, "being the discerning individual that I am, I requested a demonstration."

"And?"

"Absolutely incredible. She knew every move I was going to make before I made it. I was bound to lose, but then you surprised her and I was able to take advantage of it."

"And you feel no remorse about getting into a fistfight with a lady?"

"She _was_ wearing my face," Will replied,"so technically, I wasn't fighting a lady."

Jem gave him a look that he hoped was severe enough to make Will feel some remorse. After a moment, his _parabatai_ cracked.

"Alright, alright. Obviously, that wasn't my plan," Will said while Jem suppressed a smile. "But the thought crossed my mind while she was standing in front of me, looking like me and then she threw a punch. I was only defending myself."

Jem suspected that, if asked, Tessa would likely tell a different story, but it seemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. There were far more pressing matters at hand. "Do you think we can trust her?"

"I think so," Will began. "I mean, she's obviously some kind of warlock, though, honestly she's the strangest one I've ever seen. You saw her do magic, but she can also use a stele. It's fascinating. Henry would have a field day with her. I, personally, think that a Eidolon demon fathered her, but who can say?" His eyes darkened again. It was nice, Jem thought, that Will was allowing himself to express concern for people now. A side effect of the not-a-curse being broken. "In any case, she's being held here against her will just as much as we are. I'd say it's safe to trust her. Especially since it doesn't appear that we have a lot of options."

"Well, I, for one, am happy to hear you say that." It was Tessa, appearing as silent as smoke in the doorway with a tray. Jem couldn't tell by looking at her face how much of the conversation she'd overhead and hoped that she hadn't heard Will's bit about her being fathered by a demon. But then, maybe she already knew about it. Her face was perfectly impassive.

"Indeed," Will was saying. "The part about you punching me was what made him question it."

"I see," she said as she sat the tray down in front of Jem. The aroma of the food she'd brought instantly made his mouth water. She seemed quite adept at mind reading without taking his body, and pushed the tray closer to him. "Please eat." She'd brought a plate of simple sandwiches, but Jem thought they were the best tasting things he'd ever eaten. She waited until he'd consumed two before she spoke again. "You really need to experience it in order to understand."

It took him a moment to catch up to her train of thought, as his brain was busy focusing on not choking on the food he was shoveling in his mouth, and Will spoke first. "That's not necessary, Tessa. Jem trusts me and my judgement."

It wasn't as arrogant as it sounded, not really. Jem did trust Will, implicitly. Just as Will trusted him. They both knew what Will had meant and Jem agreed with the statement entirely. It was nice though, when Tessa ignored him and looked directly at Jem when she spoke: "But _you_ would have an easier time trusting me if you experienced it, wouldn't you?"

Jem didn't want to contradict his _parabatai_. However, he was incredibly curious to see how the whole thing worked. At the same time, he didn't want to make her feel like she was the main attraction at a freak show.

"Well," he started, "at least let me eat first. And maybe you could change into something that isn't a dress? Will might fancy himself lovely enough to look radiant in a dress, but I, unfortunately, know I am not." Will laughed his self-depreciation, Jem sent him a sidelong glance before focusing his attention back on Tessa. "Beside, I wouldn't want you to ruin your dress further."

She glanced down at her torn dress as if she'd just realized that she was wearing it, and disappeared behind a Chinese screen that had been set up along the far side of the room. Will watched her leave with a grimace on his face. Jem's subtle reminder that he'd been the cause of her dress' demise obviously displeased him. His visible discomfort, another new symptom of post-curse Will, made Jem smile.

Jem continued to eat and Will helped himself to a sandwich while they waited for her. When she reappeared, she was wearing a long, loose tunic and matching pants and her feet were bare. They were obviously far too big for her, the sleeves hanging past her hands and the cuffs of the pants rolled up so she could walk without tripping.

"I need something of yours," she said. "Unless you want me to use a strand of hair."

"That won't be necessary," Jem said quickly and removed the jade pendant that Will had given him when they were twelve. "Here."

Tessa settled on the edge of the bed, his pendant in her hands. She suddenly looked incredibly vulnerable and he couldn't help himself-he reached out to take her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You don't have to do this."

She shook her head. "No, it's alright."

And suddenly her hand tightened around his. He couldn't not stare. It was incredible to observe. One moment, her small hand was wrapped around his, and the next, there were visible ripples in the air around their entwined fingers and then her fingers were growing, long and thin and pale like his own. The cuff of her shirt drew back and her arm grew and the shirt suddenly fit better. He saw his own swollen knuckles, the broad nailbeds, the Carstairs ring on the third finger and realized that he was holding his one of his own hands in both of his.

When he looked up, he dropped the hand he was holding like it was a hot brand. His face was staring back at him, a perfect facsimile, down to the last detail. He couldn't believe his eyes and without realizing he'd done it, he lifted his fingers, one hand to trail over the face in front of him and the other to rest on his own cheek. She drew a sharp breath when his fingers came in contact with her skin, but she otherwise held very still. It was incredibly fascinating to see the way she held his face, there was the same calm sort of vulnerability the expression that he'd seen when she was herself and he was sure he'd never worn such an expression in his life.

She was equally fascinated. "Do you always feel like this?"

His voice speaking in an American accent! He would have been delighted if not for the words she spoke. He realized that she was referring to the way the drug was pulsing through his veins and the incredible energy that came from it and he coloured.

"No, not always," he replied.

She looked like she was about to say something else, but then her brow furrowed and he nearly laughed aloud at seeing the unfamiliar way his face contorted, the self-loathing that pressed against his mind dissipating almost entirely. Will, who had been watching in equal fascination, frowned too. "What is it?"

"I can't feel him." It was amazing, hearing his voice speaking with an American accent. So much so that he almost missed what Tessa was saying in his voice.

"What?" Will asked, just as fascinated as he was.

"I can't feel his thoughts." There was a frantic sort of panic in his voice now too. He didn't remember the last time he'd felt truly frantic, and seeing it on his face was distracting him from the actual issue.

"What's that?" Will asked. It made Jem feel better that he wasn't the only one who had a hard time following what was going on. She wasn't paying attention to Will, she was staring intently at Jem.

"Think of a number," she demanded. He wondered if he really sounded that way when he was being demanding, but complied. _Seven_.

"I can't feel you," she said. Before he knew what was happening, she had grabbed his face between her hands and her gaze-his gaze-was boring into him. He wasn't sure what was happening.

And then it didn't matter because she was slumped over in his arms. The novelty of catching himself in his arms was short lived. She'd lost his face when she'd fainted. It slipped off the way that people slipped their coats off and suddenly her hair was tumbling about her face and her body was small and delicate in his arms. Before he or Will could do anything, she was pushing herself away from him, her face full of bewilderment.

"What happened?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I admit, this chapter is not my best work, but I really wanted to stick to my posting schedule and make sure that you guys got an update today! Thanks very much to my Guest reviewer, who I can't reply to in a PM. I'm glad you think my plot looks interesting! :)


	6. Shade of a Shadow in the Glass

_Chapter 5: Shade of a Shadow in the Glass_

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><p>Charlotte Branwell would do well to wear more color, Magnus thought. He had the feeling her skin tone would improve drastically if only she would try wearing jewel tones. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the woman had a dreadful affinity for grey. He'd briefly considered offering her some sartorial advice, but she was in a dither about her lost Shadowhunters and he rather thought this was perhaps not the best time.<p>

"I can't believe this," Charlotte was saying. She was still wearing her traveling clothes and she looked awfully road weary. Her husband, the not-so-esteemed Henry Branwell, hadn't even taken off his hat, although Magnus was of the opinion that Mr. Branwell had maybe forgotten he was still wearing it. Charlotte spun on her heel and faced the two young men standing before her. To their credit, the Lightwood brothers did appear to be a bit upset. "We were in Alicante for less than a fortnight and we come back to find that two of our charges are _missing_? And I had to learn it from Magnus Bane, not from the two Shadowhunters I left in charge!"

At this she sank into her desk chair and her husband rushed to her side, patting her shoulder gently. "There, there, dear. Will and Jem are very capable. Wherever they are, I'm sure they're fine."

"Exactly!" the taller of the two young men exclaimed. Magnus was almost certain the boy was named Gilbert. Or it could have been Gunther. He wasn't actually sure. "They're practically adults and it's only been a few days. We had no idea that anything was amiss."

"To be fair," this from a petite blonde girl-Jessica?-who was spectacularly arrayed in blue crepe, "the note sent _was_ addressed to you, Charlotte."

"And I am grateful," Charlotte said shooting a venomous glare at Gunther, "that _someone_ was looking out for my Shadowhunters. Thank you, Magnus, for alerting me. I just wish I had been here to receive your note."

"And it hardly matters now." The speaker was a raven haired girl who had, until now, been sitting silently on the chaise. Magnus noted with some interest that the incredible beauty that belonged to Will Herondale had been gifted to his sister as well. _Cecily_, his mind provided the name, linking the face before him to the reason William had come to him for help breaking the not-a-curse. Her dark eyes blazed with blue fire. "What matters is that we find them. Now. Today. As soon as possible."

Charlotte nodded and Gunther had the grace to look chagrinned. "Of course," the boy said, shooting Cecily an apologetic look. Magnus sensed something there, between the two of them, an unrealized sort of potential that they were both hesitant to explore. He wondered if they would ever be brave enough to discover what lay between them. "If Mr. Bane would be so kind to explain where this Pandemonium Club is located, I will go after them myself."

"And I will join you," the other Lightwood brother interjected. "Charlotte, I am horrified that this happened while the Institute was under my supervision and Gabriel and I will do whatever it takes to make this right."

"Thank you, Gideon," Charlotte said. Magnus wondered if he was supposed to know who this Gabriel person was, but decided that now was not the best time to ask. Besides, Charlotte was talking to him, "Magnus, what can you tell us about this Pandemonium Club?"

"Precious little," Magnus replied. "I attended the fight at the behest of Lady Belcourt, my lover." It was always such fun to throw that bit into casual conversation with Shadowhunters. It did not disappoint this time. Charlotte turned bright pink and the younger of the Lightwood brothers sputtered unbecomingly. Even the blonde in the blue crepe who'd been observing the whole interaction with apparent boredom raised her eyebrows. Only the Herondale girl remained impassive, staring at him intently. She reminded him too much of Will Herondale and too much of the fact that Magnus felt responsible for the boy. These thoughts robbed him of the joy of bringing up Camille. "To my regret," Magnus continued, "I only know what I relayed in my note."

"You at least know the location," Cecily said. "Tell us the address and we will start there."

Gunther interjected here. "Correction," he stated, "Gideon and I will start there. _You_ will stay here."

At this, she jumped up and stood toe-to-toe with the boy. They were a beautiful pair, Magnus thought. He was lankily tall and still a little golden from his time in Idris. On the other side, she was small and all alabaster skin and dark hair. They were a striking juxtaposition. But the fire in her eyes was still burning bright. Magnus had initially thought it was a fierce love for her brother that kindled the fire, but he saw something else there now. She felt like she needed to prove herself to these people, Magnus realized. He remembered now that she was a new addition to the Institute and William Herondale's younger brother. She was born to be a Nephilim, but she wasn't entirely treated like one yet and it bothered her.

"My brother and his _parabatai_ are out there. They are my only family now and I will do whatever it takes to save them. Am I clear?"

"Mr. Lightwood, do you believe that your training over these past months has been ineffective?" Charlotte asked, her eyebrows raised. "If you feel that Cecily has been inadequately trained, I should inform the Council and request a more experienced tutor."

"You were doing the same thing at her age, I'll wager." This from Henry Branwell, who was watching the exchange with a scientific sort of interest and completely missed the exasperated expression on his wife's face.

"That will not be necessary,"Gideon interjected. "Miss Herondale is perfectly capable of accompanying us. It could even present an opportunity to test her skills."

At this, Cecily crowed in triumph, Gunther pouted quite prettily and Charlotte turned back to Magnus. "How do I get them to the Pandemonium Club?"

"It's not far from here actually," Magnus said, and he could hardly believe the words that were about to spill from his mouth. Goddamn William Herondale. "I'll take them myself."

* * *

><p>"So your name <em>isn't<em> Gunther? Truly?"

They were in Magnus' carriage, which was actually Camille's carriage and on loan to him for the day. Camille had also loaned Archer to Magnus as the driver and the Darkling was very much displeased that his mistress's carriage was sullied by so many Nephilim. The elder Lightwood was trying very hard not to be amused by the conversation, while the boy who was, apparently, named Gabriel and not Gunther bristled. On one hand, Magnus understood, to a certain degree, that he had not been paying as much attention when Charlotte had been introducing her Shadowhunters to him as he perhaps should have been. On the other hand, though, Shadowhunters rarely gave him the courtesy of even asking for his name, and he rarely let that bother him, thus, he didn't understand why Gabriel Lightwood was so out of sorts.

"No," the boy said, rolling his eyes. "It is most definitely Gabriel."

Magnus looked at him appraisingly. "I shall likely continue to call you Gunther. It's stuck in my head now."

At this, the other Lightwood boy did laugh aloud and Gabriel Lightwood glared daggers at his brother. Magnus had the feeling that, if she were paying any attention, Cecily Herondale would have been quite amused by the conversation as well. But she was absently staring out the window as London passed by. He understood that she was concerned for her brother. If he was honest with himself, he was concerned too, but he was hardly going to let that on. In his experience, allowing the Nephilim to know you cared about them rarely worked in a Downworlder's favor. It simply would not do to have Cecily Herondale reminding him at a later, and likely inconvenient, time in their lives that he felt a sense of personal responsibility for Will's life.

Gabriel saw Magnus watching Cecily and immediately his disgruntled expression changed to something far more tender. He reached across the carriage and touched her knee in what Magnus perceived to be a gentleness that was far out of the boy's character.

"We'll find him, Cece," he said when she turned her incredible blue eyes on him. "I swear we will."

She slumped a little at his touch, as if he'd shouldered some of the burden she bore, but she didn't say anything. Gabriel didn't either, but when she covered his hand with hers, he did smile faintly.

Gabriel's attention was so focused on her that he didn't notice his older brother watching the two, an unreadable expression on his face, but Magnus did. The older boy seemed almost relieved as he observed them. He vaguely recalled hearing from Camille that their father, the venerable Benedict Lightwood, was well known amongst London's Downworlders for the lavish, if not demonic, parties he threw. Now that he thought about it, Magnus had also heard that Benedict and his eldest son had not seen eye-to-eye on these gatherings since the boy'd returned from Madrid, but he hadn't heard anything about the younger son. Watching them now, he wondered if Gideon Lightwood was witnessing his brother's salvation.

When he turned his attention back to Cecily, she was already staring out the window, but she seemed far less tense, as if Gabriel's promise had put her mind at ease.

Magnus only hoped that the boy could keep his oath to her.

* * *

><p>Magnus suspected that the building where he had attended the Pandemonium Club's fight had once been a theater, and a large one at that. The night he attended, it had been all glittering lights and beautifully attired Downworlders. The darkness had muted the dirt and the graffiti, which was all on display in the weak London sunlight. The building had been heavily glamoured to look like a mundane warehouse on an otherwise empty road just on the edge of where Whitechapel ended and Stratford began. It also, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be entirely abandoned.<p>

This didn't surprise Magnus, but it put the Lightwoods in a bit of a sour mood. It wasn't as if there weren't signs of recent activity; even from the street Magnus spotted a lady's now-trampled red glove, two handbills from the most recent fight, and a broken bridle. When he pointed these things out to his companions, it did little to cheer them. However, Magnus suspected that if they had hoped to find their lost brethren here, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

"I was at least expecting some sort of watchman," Gideon said, running a hand through his sandy hair. "This is ridiculous."

"Downright careless if you ask me," said Gabriel. Magnus refrained from pointing out that no one had actually asked him.

"Carelessness works to our advantage, I think," Cecily replied, pulling her stele from its sheath and walking purposefully towards the front doors.

"Cecily, wait."

It was Gideon and, to Magnus' great surprise, Cecily listened to him. She looked impatient and angry, but she stopped mid-step and waited for him. She respects him, Magnus thought. The look on her face was that of a soldier waiting for orders. She didn't like it, but she did it anyway. In that regard at least, Magnus realized, she was going to be a better Shadowhunter than her brother. She was rash and impatient, yes, but at least she had learned how to obey a chain of command.

"Your instincts are good," Gideon was saying, "but we can't march through the front door. Let's look around and see if we can't find a back entrance, alright? And if we find one, I'll take point, then you and Magnus, and Gabriel will bring up the rear."Cecily bit her lip and nodded. Gideon reached out and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "I know it's hard for you, Cecily. I wouldn't be nearly as calm as you are if it were Gabriel who was missing." Magnus saw Gabriel's eyebrows fly up at this, but if Gideon noticed, he didn't let on. "I do not intend to lose another Herondale, do you understand me?"

"Yes," she said. Her voice was strong and clear. "Back door. You, me, Magnus, Gabriel. I've got it."

"And the two of you?" Gideon asked, looking at his brother and Magnus for the first time during his little speech. Gabriel nodded in affirmation.

"Whatever you say, o Captain, my Captain," Magnus said. He received three blank looks in return. "William would have appreciated that," Magnus grumbled, making a mental note to tell Charlotte that she need to stock up her library on American poetry.

"Follow me then," Gideon said.

From that point on, the Shadowhunters moved in quiet unity, silent as ghosts. It made Magnus feel like a puppy with too big paws as he followed them. It didn't help that the pair of boots he was wearing today, while at the height of fashion this season, made walking quietly on the cobblestones next to impossible.

They found a back entrance easily enough and it only took one open rune and a touch of magic to get in. Magnus allowed the Shadowhunters to light the place with their witchlight, knowing better than to leave too many traces of his magic laying about. Like the outside, the inside was far less appealing than he'd remembered it. Although he hadn't actually liked it much in the first place. While the Magister ran a good show, it seemed that he wasn't much for overall tidiness and something sticky now clung to the sole of Magnus's fine boot.

"Charming," he muttered under his breath, but if his Nephilim companions heard him, they didn't say anything.

The door they entered through had once been a door for stagehands, and opened into a long hallway lined on either side with small offices that Magnus assumed had once been dressing rooms. Now almost all of them were empty, save one that looked like it may have occasionally been used as an office. Cecily stayed there to rifle through the desk while the Lightwoods and Magnus continued to comb the rest of the building.

The rest of the structure proved to be just as filthy as the backstage area and just as empty too. Magnus sensed some traces of magic around the ring, but nothing of consequence and told his companions so. In fact, there was nothing of consequence anywhere to be found throughout the building. Wherever the Magister was keeping his fighters, it certainly wasn't here.

When they rejoined Cecily, she gave Gabriel such a hopeful look that Magnus actually cringed. So she hadn't found a thing either. Neither of the boys appeared to be able to say so and, being the compassionate soul that he was, Magnus took it upon himself to tell her.

"The building is empty, Miss Herondale. While your brother was here, I believe it is safe to assume he no longer is. Wherever the Magister stores his fighters, it is not in this building." he realized, belatedly, that he wasn't speaking as gently as he perhaps ought to have been when breaking bad news to a lady. Even though he'd only known her for a few hours, he felt like Cecily Herondale was stronger than the Nephilim gave her credit for, and he treated her as such. She did not let him down.

"I have nothing that would allow me to argue with you, Mr. Bane," she said, her voice very steady even as her eyes flashed in pain. "Only an outdated roster of the fighters and records of bets placed, lost, and won. No information whatsoever as to the location of the fighters. Completely useless."

"What do we do now?" Gabriel asked, more to himself than to anyone in the room.

"Now," Magnus replied, "we wait for the next fight night."

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><p><em>Author's Note: Many thanks to "Night," who I can't reply via PM, for leaving me a review! I'm glad that you're enjoying my story!<em>


	7. Dark Child of Fright

_Chapter 6: Dark Child of Fright, of Death and Sin_

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><p>Will was beginning to miss Agatha's cooking. Tessa was rarely able to procure more than sandwiches from wherever she obtained them from and they were lackluster at best, all dry bread and tasteless meat. By his count, they'd had sandwiches on at least ten separate occasions and only had fifteen meals or so in the time that had passed since he and Jem were kidnapped. The first few had been acceptable, given that he had been starved and distracted when she brought them, but now he was beginning to loathe the thought of eating another sandwich ever again.<p>

"Tess, I don't suppose it would be too much to ask for a roast chicken for dinner?"

Tessa was sitting across from Jem, his hand in hers, wearing his skin again for the third time that day. She made attempts to reach his thoughts whenever Jem would let her, which, as Jem was rather entertained by these attempts, was often. Over the last few days she'd tried everything from fighting him to forcing him to meditate with her, each time with the same results and each time the same results occurred, she grew more wild in her experiments. Will could understand her obsession. Her ability was her saving grace in the ring and if she was matched with an opponent that shared Jem's mental block, she could likely lose her life.

At the sound of her name, she snapped back into her body with a force that knocked her back into her chair. She sat disoriented for a moment before she pushed her hair out of her face and rolled her eyes at him. "That depends," she replied. "Are you willing to reconsider my offer?"

Will rolled his eyes right back at her. This was a conversation they'd had too many times and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. "As I already explained, we are _Shadowhunters_, we are already trained in how to fight the worst of Hell's demons, we can handle any form of Downworlder, in the ring or outside of it."

"Which explains why you were so handily beaten in your first match," Jem said under his breath. Tessa smiled at that, and then frowned, as if she were not used to finding herself amused. It made him sad to think that she was unaccustomed to the simple act of smiling.

"I was unarmed, discombobulated, and out of my element" Will replied, glaring at his _parabatai_, who simply smiled back at him. "On top of that, my stele was taken from me and I was unMarked. Additionally, I was worried about you." Jem smirked, deepening Will's glare. "That won't be a problem again."

"You're being an idiot," Jem said. Will knew he was right. He hated it when Jem was right. It happened more often than Will cared to admit. He knew that he was only resisting her offer because of the way she'd crumpled against the wall, suddenly herself again after he'd thrown her-in-his-body there. He knew that Jem knew that was the reason too. That didn't mean he had to acknowledge it though.

"As I was saying," he began, "we are more than capable of taking care of ourselves in the ring without utilizing your talents."

"I don't doubt your skills," Tessa replied, color suddenly high in her pale cheeks. "I'm just trying to give you an advantage. What happens if the Magister sticks you in a red match and it goes like your last one? I need you to live."

Something about the way she'd worded that last bit struck him as odd, but he didn't dwell on it. "We will, Tess. We fight demons all the time. Downworlders pose us no threat."

"Still, I have fought every one of your would-be opponents. I know their techniques. I know their weaknesses. I know their _thoughts_. I can teach you all of it. Why would you say no?"

"Because he doesn't want to hurt you again," Jem interjected. "He doesn't trust himself to remember who you are and hold back. That's why he won't fight you."

At this, her expression shifted into something unreadable. For a moment it reminded him of her wild laughter when he'd sworn in front of her and then apologized. The same sort of shock and confusion were there in her eyes, the same ironic twist of her lips. It occurred to him again that she was not someone who was used to people caring about her. It struck him as wrong and inexpressibly sad that she had learned to react this way to kindness and consideration, when, as a lady, she ought to have been treated with such no matter the circumstances.

"Well, that's easily remedied," she said. "I have only one injury you need worry yourself about: I had a rib broken once, here," her fingers brushed the bottom of the right side of her rib cage. "I tried to heal it with my own magic, but I did something wrong and, as punishment for using magic, the Dark Sisters did not correct the mistake."

"Can't wait to meet those two, by the by," Jem muttered darkly. Will wasn't surprised to see that Jem's hands had closed into clenched fists. His own had done the same at the thought.

"What's done is done," Tessa replied, her voice mild. "When you threw me into that wall, Will, I was already Changing back into myself and I struck it with my side unprotected. That's the only reason I was hurt and it can be avoided easily now that you know."

"Well," Will began, exchanging a look with Jem. His _parabatai _shrugged.

"If you don't, it won't stop me from accepting her offer," Jem said. "And then I will be the one better prepared in these matches and you will probably die." Will rolled his eyes again. "Besides, I can't remember the last time we focused our training on hand-to-hand combat, can you? It'd be good for us."

He knew his _parabatai_ was making a good point again, damn him. And, of course, Jem wouldn't make light of Will dying unless he was certain that Will would live. It didn't make his mutiny any more acceptable in the given situation though.

"Apparently I am outmatched, if not outwitted," he grumbled. "Fine. We will both train with you."

Tessa nodded once, an entirely different smile forming around the corners of her mouth."Roast chicken it is."

* * *

><p>Procuring said roast chicken was more difficult than Tessa had anticipated. It initially wasn't going to be a problem, the kitchens were generally equipped to provide the Pandemonium Club's fighters with whatever they wanted, but the boys had insisted that they join her, claiming that they were tired of being cooped up. She had suspected that they were really wanting to examine the caves for an escape. She hadn't expected that they would disappear the second she left them to duck into the kitchen and make their dinner request to one of the Magister's nameless cooks who saw to her meals, leaving her to scour the caverns for them.<p>

But they had and now she was wandering the passages, one of her least favorite activities, and hoping that she wouldn't run into any of the other resident fighters. With any luck at all, she would be able to find them before they got themselves into trouble. It struck her as funny that she was so protective of them after such a short time. She had been trying to annoy the Magister when she suggested giving them a private room, yes, but part of that was founded in a very real understanding that the Downworlders here would not be kind to the resident Nephilim. It was not a thought she allowed herself to dwell on for long.

She turned a corner and grimaced at the sight before her. Of course, she hadn't had much real luck in the past six months. Why would today prove to be the exception?

Will and Jem were cornered by the Anik and Anila, a set of twins who were half djinn and wholly unpleasant. They were some of the very few fighters in the Magister's employ that had joined the Pandemonium Club of their own accord. She'd fought Anik twice and won both times, but Anila was slippery as a snake and had beaten her soundly the one time they'd been in the ring together. Tessa told herself that it was because it had been one of her first fights, back when she was unsure of her abilities and hadn't assimilated much for fighting talents, but part of her was always afraid of facing Anila again. In any case, the djinn halflings were just as nasty outside of the ring as they were inside it and she generally avoided them when she could.

The boys didn't appear to be particularly bothered by them, which concerned her too. Tessa had thought from the first day she'd spent with them that the boys ought to be more considerate of their precarious circumstances, but being nonchalant in the face of these two was practically suicidal. She wasn't close enough to hear what was going on, but it was obvious that the twins were in a malicious mood.

As she approached them, she could see the way Will's shoulders were tensed and how Jem kept clenching and unclenching his fists. Not so nonchalant after all, she thought. Part of her wanted to hold back, to see how the Shadowhunters handled themselves when faced with aggressive opponents. That same part was the part that wanted to avoid an unnecessary confrontation with the halflings. But then a louder part pointed out that Jem had barely consumed any of his drug and was obviously suffering from a lack of it. He was in no condition to get into a confrontation with people as cruel as the twins, and she felt a fierce sort of protectiveness for both of the boys, even if she wasn't sure where it came from. Besides, the djinn didn't know she was there yet and the element of surprise was generally her friend.

She slid forward on silent feet, a trait she'd picked up from Changing into vampires countless times, and allowed the Nephilim to catch a glimpse of her. Neither boy reacted visibly to her sudden appearance, for which she was grateful, although she saw Will's eyebrow raise ever so slightly. Now that she was closer, she could hear what was being said and it make her blood run cold.

"Nasty, little Shadowhunters," Anila hissed, her forked tongue flicking out from behind her lips, "killed our father. Seems only fair that we kill you."

"Wouldn't be much of a loss," Anik said, flexing his arms, making the iridescent tattoos on them glimmer in the low light, as he poked Jem in the chest. "Especially considering that you're going to die soon anyway, silver boy."

Jem's silver eyes flashed and grew steely dark while Will opened his mouth to say something. Tessa beat him to it.

"Now, Anik," she said, stopping just behind the group, a little too close to the djinn for comfort, but close enough that it surprised the entire group. "Is that any way to speak to our newest companions?"

The halflings spun around and, in doing so, stepped far enough away from the boys that Tessa felt more comfortable. She smiled sweetly as matching blue flames sprang to life on her open palms. She was relatively certain that the twins would not want to participate in an uneven fight. However, she also knew that Anik was not capable of magic and guessed that a little bit of showing off on her part would be more persuasive.

She thanked all her lucky stars when it worked. The twins shared a long look, their yellow-green eyes gleaming in the darkness and came to some sort of unspoken agreement. Anik growled, but backed down the passage that led to the rooms the twins shared. Anila was not so easily dissuaded. She slunk up to Tessa and all but wrapped herself around Tessa's neck. The flames in her palms jumped higher than she'd intended, causing the older girl to pull away from her.

"I'm still waiting for another chance to beat you into a pulp, warlock," Anila murmured as she slithered away. "You may have beaten my brother, but I would very much enjoy killing you."

Tessa stared after her, suppressing a full bodied shudder until they were out of sight. She didn't believe that Mortmain would put her in the red match with Anila any time soon. They both performed well in the ring and he didn't have many other female fighters right now. It would cost him too much money to allow Anila the opportunity to try and kill Tessa.

Or, at least, that's what she hoped.

* * *

><p>Will now wished he'd hasn't put up so much resistance to Tessa's offer to train them. One of Mortmain's lackeys stood in the middle of their room, a silver tray in his hands, acting for all intents and purposes like a well-trained valet delivering the mail to his mistress, in spite of the fact that he wore a wicked knife and a pistol on his belt. From the stiffness in Tessa's shoulders as she rose to receive the tray's contents, Will could only assume that these were not letters from her admirers. She waved away the servant with a flick of her wrist and the man bowed before taking his leave. Will watched his retreating figure, wondering how much good the pistol and knife would do if he and Jem had to fight their way out of this place. Tessa rifled through the envelopes she'd been given and visible shudder passed through her as her eyes skimmed the last one.<p>

"Tessa?" Jem asked, standing and taking her elbow. "Tessa, what is it?"

She allowed him to lead her back to the chaise and sank down next to Will. Jem perched on the chaise's arm on her other side and Will sent him a quizzical look over her head, to which Jem merely shrugged. Tessa, oblivious to the exchange, whispered. "I didn't think it would come so soon."

"What, exactly?" Will asked.

"Read for yourself," Tessa said softly, handing both of them envelopes made of fine, thick paper. "There's one for each of us."

Will withdrew an equally heavy piece of paper embossed with the double _ouroboros_ of the Pandemonium Club from the envelope. An elegant script written in blue ink requested his presence at the Pandemonium Club the following evening.

"What happens if we refuse the invitation?" Jem asked, turning his over in his hands.

Tessa looked up from the unopened enveloped she was holding. "You would be wise not to refuse an invitation to the ring. If not for your sake, then for Will's."

"The Magister threatens people into doing what he wants?"

"He's already done it do you once," she replied. "I don't think he would hesitate to do so again. Please accept the invitation."

Will recalled that she was here because she was paying off her brother's debts. He wondered how often her brother was threatened in order to get her to do what the Magister desired. He wondered what he would do to protect Jem or Cecily if the situation was reverse. He was suddenly grateful to Tessa for her help. He would fight to keep Jem safe rather than risk him being hurt any day.

"Tessa, why is your invitation written in red?" Jem asked, dragging Will out of his thoughts. He glanced over at the unopened envelope in her hands and frowned. The ink that her name was penned in was a red as fresh blood and he had a good idea what that meant.

"Red ink for a red match," she said, her voice soft. "It would appear that Anila will have an opportunity to kill me after all."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I realize that it has been quite a while since I've updated and that I broke my updating promise. I'm sorry about that. I don't have any good excuses.I also realize that this chapter is a little disjointed and I'm sorry about that too. I plan on reworking it later, but there are things I want to write about coming up and I'm excited to get to them. Many thanks to Guest and Night, my two anonymous reviewers who I can't thank via PM.<p> 


	8. Lucifer in Starlight

_Chapter 7: Lucifer in Starlight_

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><p>"Wait, that djinn woman?" Will asked, straightening up. "How do you know?"<p>

"The embellishments," Tessa said, pointing to the gold embossed curlicues around the corners of her invitation. "They match her tattoos."

Jem remembered the way the halfing's skin had shimmered in the darkness, the gold glint reflected in her eyes. He nodded before he glanced down at the invitation in his hands, running his fingers over the iridescent marks on the envelope. "So does this mean I'll be fighting her brother then?"

"It seems we both will be," Will said, gesturing to the same marks on his invitation. "Delightful."

Tessa cringed. "I hate knowing his thoughts. But he's an idiot in the ring. I can show you how to beat him and make a good show of it. The Magister likes nothing more than a good show. He'll reward you for it."

"What's it like? Knowing their thoughts, I mean," Jem asked, truly curious. She had told him about the process of finding the light within each person she Changed into during one of her attempts to reach his thoughts, but she'd never told them what happened to her when she was wearing someone else's body. "I imagine it's quite unpleasant."

She cocked her head, as if she'd never thought about it. "It was horrible at first. The people who are here have terrible thoughts. I'd never experienced anything like it. And depending on who I Changed into, I couldn't control my body or my words. It was like I was trapped there until I Changed back." She closed her eyes and gave her shoulders a little shake, as if she could still feel their thoughts crawling through her brain. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. They were dark with some hidden emotion.

"It's easier now," she continued. "I can still see their thoughts, of course, but it's like . . . being a part of a conversation, I suppose. I can respond to them and control the body in spite of them. It helps that most of them don't know that I can read their minds."

"Not a thing you'd want to broadcast, eh?" Will muttered. "Who does know?"

"Not many. I suspect Anila does, though the fact that I beat her brother twice may mean she doesn't. Or that she's more cruel than I give her credit for."

"Difficult to tell with that one," Jem said, the djinn's glinting eyes and hissing voice flashing through his mind.

"Do you think you can beat her?" Will asked and immediately grimaced. Leftovers from the not-a-curse, Jem thought. Every now and then his _parabatai _ forgot that he didn't have to push people away and things like that slipped out. He amended his words immediately. "I apologize, Tess. Don't answer that."

"I wouldn't know how to anyway," she said, seeming more amused by his sudden discomfort than anything. "She's beaten me before, but I was weaker then. And if she does know about my ability…" she trailed off, a small frown creasing her forehead, as if her own mortality had just occurred to her. "It's difficult to say."

"Well," Jem said decisively trying to lift the mood in the room, "we can certainly give you some practice. And surely there are moves that we know that you don't. You'll take her by surprise no matter what."

Tessa raised her eyebrows. "And here I was thinking that I was going to be the one to teach you a thing or two."

* * *

><p>They spent the rest of the evening and most of the next day training and sparring, stopping only for the roast chicken she'd ordered for dinner and for some rest. She had left them to disappear into whatever cranny she tucked herself into at night now that they had taken her room. They had repeatedly insisted that she keep her bed, that they were perfectly fine with finding a hole to curl up in, but she wouldn't hear of it. The argument had developed into a routine of sorts, their strange way of saying goodnight to each other.<p>

That night was no different, except that she returned after only a few hours, all tense shoulders and nervous pacing outside their door. It was Will who heard her first and brought her back in, who sparred with her silently while Jem pretended to be asleep. He'd avoided his drug the day before and the training they'd done had taken more out of him than he had anticipated. It was a game he played with himself: seeing how long he could last between doses, how much pain his body could endure, how little he could take without Will noticing. It was an easier game to play when he could hide in his room, away from Will's appraising gaze. Here, he opted to feign sleep.

He held out for an hour or two more before he allowed himself to get up and take a pinch of the _yin fen_. He would have been able to last longer if he'd had his violin. Playing usually managed to distract him for greater amounts of time. He felt Will's eyes on him from the second he rose until he'd approached the wax packet of his drug, when Will's gaze slid away, as if to give him privacy. Jem was used to it. People tended to do that when faced with the particulars of his addiction, as if ignoring it would make it go away. It made them more comfortable, he knew that and he didn't fault them for it. It was human nature, after all, to avoid things that made one uncomfortable. He noticed that Tessa, however, did not look away as he dissolved the powder into a small glass of water and drank it one quick gulp.

They stopped sparring long enough to eat a brief breakfast. Both were sweaty and breathing hard; Will even had a blooming red mark across his cheek where she'd accidentally landed a blow. The hours of sparring hadn't lessened Tessa's nerves though and had only served to heighten Will's. Observing them, Jem determined that there was no way to improve the situation. Their meal was quick and quiet.

After they ate, she slipped behind the Chinese screen and put on a loose tunic and pants that were far too big for her, but would fit her perfectly when she Changed into Anik. They spent the next several hours exploring Anik's weak spots and natural responses to different moves. She was very good at pushing aside her own natural responses and letting his body react in ways that let them learn how to attack him most effectively. After a few hours, they had come up with a routine based on those reactions that she declared to nearly be good enough to curry the Magister's favor.

When the mundane lady's maid appeared at the door, Jem noticed that Tessa didn't seem to be at all surprised. Annoyed, yes, but not surprised by the sudden appearance of an outsider. She straightened from her defensive posture after ducking a kick from Will and blocking one of his own blows and Changed back into herself in one smooth motion. Jem was close enough to her after throwing the punch that he saw the way her mouth tightened and her eyes rolled in aggravation.

Will, however, had been quite shocked, his jaw and his fists dropping at the same time. Jem'd spun around to see what Will had started so suddenly at, but at the sight of a girl attired neatly in a black dress and white cap, stood in wary silence, watching Tessa for cues as to what to do next.

"It appears that I am done training for the day," she said with a small sigh, leaving the training area. "You should keep practicing though-Will still leaves his left side unguarded more than he should."

"I've been telling him that since we were twelve," Jem replied, shooting Will a sidelong glance, but Will was already halfway across the room, approaching the newcomer warily.

"She's harmless," Tessa explained, stopping Will in his tracks. "And completely useless. Mortmain sends her every time he decides I need to be dressed up. She doesn't talk or hear or do anything except paint me up like a circus performer. See?" She waved her hand in front of the girl's face. The girl remained motionless, staring blankly ahead. "I suspect that she's under some sort of spell that keeps her compliant to his wishes."

"To dress you up?" Will asked, raising his eyebrow exaggeratedly. "I thought you all wore the same outfits in the ring."

"For most matches, yes, but the show is always the most important element to the Magister." She shrugged. "Costumes are just part of the show."

Tessa allowed the woman to draw her away and to the dressing table, where she began to plait Tessa's dark hair into many small braids. As she did, Tessa angled her body so that she could watch them, her keen eyes taking in their movements with a student's gaze. Every so often she'd ask them to repeat a move, but slowly, or rotate their bodies so that she could see the same move from a different angle. Every now and then, much to the maid's chagrin, she would join them and try the step herself. Jem appreciated her desire to learn, even if it was comical to watch her attempt an elbow strike when her hair was only halfway done and more closely resembled a rat's nest than a lady's hairdo.

"No. Absolutely not."

Tessa's voice floated out from behind the Chinese screen the maid had taken her behind to help her into her costume. It was the final piece of the long hours primping that had culminated in designs painted on her arms and face in silver paint and her hair twisted into an elaborate tangle of curls and braids interlaced with strands of silver chain that stood out against the dark locks. Jem had realized about halfway through that she was meant to be a mirror to the djinn woman. Where Anila was blazing and golden, like the sun, Tessa was pale and silver as starlight. They would be an arresting sight side by side in the ring. A beautiful show for the Magister's audience.

From the sound of it at the moment, it seemed like there wasn't going to be much of a show.

"I won't. It's indecent!" Her voice rose. "He can stuff it up his ass before I'll put it on for him. You tell him-" and then she broke off. She took a deep breath. He and Will exchanged a look, both unsure of what to do. This didn't sound like one of Jessamine's tantrums. There was a desperation in Tessa's voice that Jessamine would never be able to understand, much less convey. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, defeated. "You can't tell him anything, can you?" Another long silence, a humorless laugh that ended on a slightly hysterical note. "You can't even hear me."

Jem could practically hear Will's voice announcing that they could still hear her, but the smart remark never came. When he glanced over at his _parabatai_, Will's face was set in profound discomfort, no trace of a sarcastic comment to be found. Tessa had never once shown a moment of weakness in the time that they'd been here, had never done anything but mildly accept the circumstances that had been presented to her. If she'd rebelled, it'd been quietly, almost gently. Jem suspected that this was a behavior she'd quickly learned, that Mortmain had threatened her brother enough to make her easily compliant. It was one thing to see her even, almost easy acceptance of horrifying circumstances. It was quite another to hear her obvious defeat. It made him uncomfortable too, as if he were intruding on an incredibly private moment.

When she emerged from behind the screen, he and Will both jumped, like children who'd been caught eavesdropping. She had her robe wrapped tightly around her, obscuring the costume from their view, and didn't seem to notice their discomfort. The maid, having completed her task, bobbed in a curtsy of sorts and disappeared from the room. Behind the mask of her kohl rimmed eyes and rouged cheeks and lips, Tessa's face was impassive again, as if her outburst hadn't happened. She gestured to the screen behind her:

"She brought some things for you too. It would appear that we'll all be in costume tonight. You'd better put them on."

They tripped over themselves to comply, both rushing behind the screen in an effort to escape. Behind the screen was a short bench, and laying on the bench were two laughable sets of clothes that, Jem supposed, were meant to imitate gear. They were black, but that was where the resemblance ended. Instead of tough leather, the material was thin and shiny and flimsy and looked a lot like Indian pyjamas. In fact, the entire outfit would be more appropriate as night clothes. Jem couldn't fathom how the silky material could be considered protective in any realm of possibility. It couldn't even protect them from the cold of the caves.

Will looked down at his dirty and tattered gear and then back the black silk shirt Jem was holding out for inspection and laughed out loud. "This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen."

"It is not," Jem automatically replied. "There was the time that Henry gave himself purple spots. That was significantly more ridiculous."

Will rolled his eyes. "Well, then this is the second most ridiculous thing I've ever seen."

"What about Jessamine's hat with the drooping ostrich feather that kept falling into her face?"

"_James_…"

"I'm just encouraging you to be more precise with your language," Jem said with a smile, grabbing the stele from his ankle sheath. Will muttered good naturedly about damned foreigners not understanding nuances, but allowed Jem to trace battle runes onto his skin.

In the end, they opted for putting the designated costumes on over their own gear rather than letting the too slick material actually touch their skin. Jem was certain that they looked absurd, but when they presented themselves to Tessa for her inspection, she wasn't at all amused. She did, however, tip her head to the side and murmur, "All darkness and light. Striking."

Jem had never considered himself, or the combination of himself and Will to be striking. He knew that his silver hair and eyes made him stand out, but he'd always considered it to be just another thing that made him different from everyone else. He'd never had anyone look at him and murmur anything complimentary. That was Will's territory. Girls had been throwing themselves at Will since he'd arrived at the Institute, but they mostly ignored Jem and he'd never minded. But Tessa's appreciation had obviously been directed at both of them and it felt kind of nice.

"I managed to get you a bit more of the drug," Tessa said to him, withdrawing a small packet from the pocket of her robe and tossing it to him. The glow of her compliment faded like it'd had cold water tossed on it. "I didn't know how much you needed to be stable in the ring."

He felt his cheeks burning. "That wasn't necessary."

"I've seen how _yin fen_ works. I know that the more you have of it before a fight, the better off you are-"

"And the faster he dies," Will interrupted, his voice all defensiveness and even a hint of anger. Jem bit back the urge to sigh, to scream. He hated this conversation. "Fat lot of good it'll do him to lower his tolerance levels before we get rescued."

"I'm right here, William," Jem said, putting a warning hand on his _parabatai_'s arm, "and I can speak for myself."

Will had lost the grace to color when Jem corrected him years ago, but he did have the good sense to shut his mouth and stomp over to the chaise, where he threw himself across it dramatically. Will knew more than anybody how much it bothered Jem when people talked about him like he wasn't in the room, especially when it came to the matter of his addiction. It had been a long time since Jem had to remind him not to talk about him in the third person.

"I do appreciate the thought, Tessa." He chose his words carefully, knowing that she likely had his best interests at heart. "But Will is right, the more I take now, the more I will need later."

It was harder to read her emotions behind the mask of the make up, but he was pretty she wasn't angry, maybe only annoyed. "Better to go to the ring exhausted and in constant pain and draining Will's energy through that rune on your shoulder than to have energy and power in your own right?"

"It's not like that-" Will began, jumping back to his feet. The fire behind him outline him in golden light, and with his eyes flashing blue fire, he looked like a fallen angel. Jem cut him off with a warning look. Will sat down again and stared into the fire, his eyes tight with anger, but he kept silent.

"My body has been addicted to _yin fen_ since I was eleven years old, Tess." Her shock, chased quickly away by horror, was so exaggerated by the cosmetics that she almost looked like a caricature of herself. It almost made him smile. "The reason I have lived this long is precisely because I take only as much of the drug as I need to stand, a little more before a fight."

"But never this much," she whispered, "for it would kill you more quickly."

"Yes."

She looked so lost, so confused by all this that he had to restrain himself from reaching out to reassure her. He knew that there were other addicts like him in this place, ones who had made stupid decisions, ones who lived for their drug. It made his stomach turn to think that she had ever thought of him like one of them, like he used to think of addicts.

" I did not understand the nature of your affliction," she said, her voice still soft. "I am sorry if I insulted you."

He was about to reassure her that he was not insulted, but didn't have the chance. Two women, one tall and bony and the other short and fat, both dressed in appalling bright shades of green and blue that did nothing to enhance their pasty complexions appeared at the doorway. At the same time, Tessa stiffened and wiped all of the emotion from her face. She rose, graceful as a queen and greeted them.

"Mrs. Black, Mrs. Dark, may I present Misters Herondale and Carstairs?"

"Oh, we've met," Will said at the same time as Jem muttered, "Delighted I'm sure." They both bowed, even though Jem felt acid rising in his throat as he did so. The Dark Sisters didn't seem to care.

The taller one, who wore a dress of lime green taffeta stepped forward and gestured towards the door. "It's time to go."


	9. The Other Side of a Mirror

_Chapter 8: The Other Side of a Mirror_

* * *

><p>The Dark Sister's attitude brooked no argument. Will, by habit, ended up in the front of the line behind the yellow-eyed Mrs. Dark. Tessa fell into step behind him, never dropping her regal demeanor as she glided after him. Jem, out of habit too, ended up last, preferring, as always, to bring up the rear and watch Will's back. The short and fat Mrs. Black ended their line, bookcasing their little group in more too-bright taffeta.<p>

The silver-veined walls reflected the Dark Sister's garish clothing back at them, so that they moved in a riot of flashing blue and green light. As the warlock led them through a maze of dark hallways, Jem found himself studying the back of Tessa's head. Her hair was made even darker by the lack of light, and the pale skin of her neck even paler where loose wisps of hair curled against it. The silver painted on her skin and twisted in her hair glinted in the dim light, making her look even more like she was wearing starlight. It occurred to him that perhaps this was more than an ordinary admiration of a pretty girl, that she was more special than that, but he pushed those thoughts away quickly. They had no place in a situation such as this.

They stopped a hall that he and Will hadn't explored which was lined with several closet sized rooms, nearly all of which were occupied by costumed fighters nursing varying states of bloody wounds. They were taken past these occupied cells to three empty ones at the end of the hall. Mrs. Dark pushed Will into the first and Mrs. Black closed her hand around Jem's arm, pushing him towards the second. Even through the layers of her glove, his gear and the faux gear on top of it, he felt like her touch was clammy and hot and when she let go of him, he wiped at his arm.

She didn't leave him alone in his cell, as he expected her too. When he looked up from scrubbing at his arm, she was still standing there, holding her hand out to him, palm upturned. In the center of her aquamarine glove was a small vial filled with silver liquid. She smiled at him, showing off her yellowed and uneven teeth:

"Take it."

Jem eyeballed the vial with disdain, even as his blood began to sing in his veins. Even though he'd taken enough of the powder earlier to allow him to the survive the fight, it was as if just the presence of the substance made his body ache just a little bit less. As if his proximity to it could assuage his cravings and soothe his pain. It took great effort for him to reply:

"I'll take my chances without it, thank you," he said through gritted teeth, even as his body betrayed him by starting to reach for the vial. He had to concentrate very carefully balling his hands into fists and keeping them at his sides. His joints throbbed from the effort, but remained stationary. He could resist. He would be fine if he resisted. The warlock merely cackled in response.

"You're weak, little angel boy," she sneered. "Pathetic. Just take the drug. You want it. You _need_ it." When he didn't move, her lips curled into a growl. "Take it, all of it. Gives us a good show tonight and I won't put the dark angel in a red match tomorrow."

"I think you're bluffing," Jem said fiercely, ignoring the way his blood pulsed in his ears, almost deafening in its desperation for the _yin fen_, ignoring the flash of panic at the thought of Will in a red match. "I think you bully and threaten people into doing what you want. I think you have a bet on my winning and will do anything to get your money. I think the Magister won't let you decide who goes into red matches. And I think he doesn't give a damn about the show I give to the audience."

He didn't believe that last bit. Tessa had been training them to create a good show since the invitations to the match arrived, but he didn't think this warlock knew that. He was a good actor-a force of habit that came with living with his illness as Will's _parabatai._ He had learned from very early on that if he wanted Will to treat him like he wasn't made of blown glass he couldn't allow how much pain he was in to be obvious. It wasn't easy and it wasn't always pleasant, but it was better than being treated like an invalid. Unfortunately, the warlock woman didn't seemed to be phased by his bravado.

"But what you think and what you know aren't the same thing, little angel boy," she said in a sick singsong voice. "Are you certain that I am bluffing?" She smiled at him and shrugged. "Risk your blood brother's life. Be my guest."

He could tell that there was more of the drug in that vial that he'd usually consume in a week. Taking it mean a painful withdrawal later. Taking it would mean that he'd need more of it in the future in order to simply function. Taking it would cut months, maybe years off of his life. Jem knew that if Will got hurt because he refused to take the drug, his _parabatai _would not hold it against him. Jem know that if Will were standing beside him right now, he would say something incredibly rude and that would be the end of it. Will would never allow him to shorten his life for sport.

But Jem's life was already short and Will was not there to protest.

He took the vial and drained it in one gulp. The effects were almost immediate. The warlock's cackling laughter faded as the air around him began to glow, and then practically sizzle with an otherworldly sort of energy. He knew he should be angry, and, somewhere deep inside, he was furious, but as the drug took hold of his body, he suddenly wanted to laugh out loud. He felt hot and strong and fast. Better than he had in ages. He hadn't expected that. For his pain to lessen, yes, but to not to this degree. It wasn't something he'd ever felt before and it was spectacular. He wondered why he'd deprived himself of the drug for so long.

He was vaguely aware of a man, _Mortmain_, his brain supplied, grabbing his arm, of magic pulling him out of the cell and into a new place, but didn't come back to himself until he saw Will. His _parabatai_'s hand rested just over the rune carved into his shoulder and the expression he wore was so utterly confused that it brought Jem down from his high almost immediately. Of course Will would feel the effects of the drug. Of course he would notice the surge of energy and, later, Will would be drained of his own energy as Jem drew on it as the drug left his system. By taking the _yin fen_, he'd weakened both of them. A fresh wave of fury accompanied his horror, leaving his face and body a burning mass.

He didn't hear the bell ring, didn't see the way the lights surrounding the platform they were on flare, both signaling the beginning of the fight. The roar of the crowd was lost on him, on both of them. They could have been anywhere, on the top of a cliff or in the dining room of the Institute, and it wouldn't have mattered. The silent horror on Will's face was all Jem saw.

Until, with a flash of iridescent ink and dark skin, Will was on the ground.

The sound of the crowd, the glare of the lights, and the hulking form of the man who was half djinn standing over Will's limp body, laughing, came into abrupt focus. Anik made eye contact with him from across the ring and Jem felt something inside him snap. There was no cold of battle this time. None of the sharp focus that settled over him like a familiar jacket that came with fighting demons. There was just a sudden, white-hot fury.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd launched himself across the platform and into the halfling. All notions of what Tessa had taught him of Anik's weaknesses evaporated like water spilt on a hot stovetop. But it didn't matter. The combination of righteous indignation, anger at himself, and the drug coursing through his veins made him untouchable.

He tackled Anik, and the djinn was so surprised by the sudden attack that Jem bowled him off his feet. Jem's momentum rolled them over twice, all flashing tattoos and silver hair in the stage lights. It was with a little luck that Jem came out on top, pinning the larger man to the ground and hitting him so hard that the crack of his nose breaking was heard above the din of the crowd.

Anik roared in pain and used his legs to push Jem off of him, flinging him to the other side of the ring. Jem somersaulted across the space and landed lightly in a crouch, his silver eyes glittering. He could see that Will wasn't unconscious, though he was still on the ground. Years of training poked holes in his blind rage long enough for him to put together a plan, crude and unformed. He hoped Will would understand it.

Quickly, he moved so that his _parabatai_'s prone body was between him and Anik, stood up straight, and called out:

"Over here, you great, stupid creature!"

The djinn jumped to his feet and shook his head, spraying blood across the mat. When he saw Jem, his eyes narrowed and he charged Jem, ignoring the fact that Will still lay between the two of them.

He was rather rudely reminded of Will's presence when the boy kicked out both legs, his feet connecting with the backs of the halfling's kneecaps, effectively causing Anik to fall on his face while the crowd roared with laughter. Jem took advantage of his confusion, and grabbing him by the hair, hauled him to his knees. His fist connected with the djinn's face at the same as his knee connected with his stomach and he felt the air leave the man's body in a great _whoosh_.

He didn't stop there. He channeled all his fury and horror and rage into his fists, beating the man again and again, enjoying the way the small bones in the djinn's face felt as they popped and broke beneath his knuckles. The cheers of the audience were too loud for him to hear the bones breaking, but he found he didn't much care.

* * *

><p>Will, fighting a wave of dizziness, sat up and stared in a sort of fascinated horror as Jem continued beating the halfling. The man was mostly limp and only upright, Will suspected, because Jem was holding him that way. The fierceness and bravado that had been in Anik's expression when he'd entered the ring was gone, forsaken in favor of pure terror, and still Jem hit him. Will had never seen his <em>parabatai<em> like this. Jem was always the one advising Will to exercise restraint. Having the tables reversed was baffling. Everything about this was wrong, right down to the weird energy Will felt in his very blood as his heart pumped beneath his _parabatai_ rune. When the djinn's eyelids fell closed and didn't rise again, Will finally called out over the shouts of the crowd:

"James, let him go now. It's over."

Jem stopped at the sound of Will's voice and gave the man a long look. The audience stilled too, tensing collectively as they looked on. They had been angry when Will had entered the ring, jeering as he stalked in his corner, but something had changed when the djinn had come onstage. Apparently, he was more disliked than the Nephilim as a whole. The mob had only gotten louder when Jem joined them.

But now they were all riveted on what Jem would do next. And when he lashed out one more time, his fist cracking across the Anik's jaw, before he dropped him, the crowd went wild, their shouts shaking the floor beneath their feet. Jem paid them no attention. He would have stalked right out of the ring had the Magister not appeared in a push of smoke and grabbed his arm to raise it in victory. He gestured Will over to join them and the crowd grew even louder.

"Gwilym!" Will only heard it once over the roar of audience, but it made him stop in his tracks. There was no mistaking Cecily's voice in the fray. Mortmain grabbed his arm and joined it with Jem's, raised it over their heads and the mob's cheers grew even louder, drowning out his sister's voice. Mortmain was murmuring something about the length of the match and how they likely could have drawn it out longer, but Will was only half-listening. He scanned the stands for his sister, for some sign of other Shadowhunters, but couldn't see much beyond the glare of the stage lights.

"-in spite of the rush."

Before Will could ask what he was talking about, Jem spoke, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. "We'd like to stay and watch the next match, to begin with."

It was hard to tell whether Mortmain was displeased or amused by Jem's request, but he inclined his head over so slightly. He didn't let go of their raised hands, and they vanished from the audience's sight as a group. The magical transport was unpleasant and left Will's head spinning and even though he'd done it four times now, it was just as disconcerting as the first.

They were in some sort of private box, which allowed for a clear view of the stage, but not the best purview of the audience below. The smaller of the Dark sisters was there, and the knowing smile she gave Jem when she noticed them made Will's skin crawl. However, she maintained her distance, watching them with her beady eyes. That didn't allow Will to relax, but it was a slight comfort. Mortmain gestured to seats on the opposite side of the box and he and Jem slid into them quickly.

"You're lucky the audience disliked Anik so much," Mortmain said, gazing at the restless crowd below them. "A whirlwind of a match like that against anyone else would have elicited a terrible response." He wrinkled his nose, as if looking at something distasteful. "It doesn't hurt that I'm not particularly fond of Anik myself. His sister however," at this, his pale eyes brightened. "I do expect Anila to put on a good show. I'll return shortly. Do refrain from doing anything stupid."

Though the words were delivered amiably, there was no mistaking the warning in them. Mortmain winked and disappeared without his customary puff of smoke. Will could only assume that sort of chicanery was saved for the audience. He stood and leaned against the railing, as if he were just observing the crowd. Jem, sensing his disquiet, joined him a moment later.

"My sister is here," Will murmured in Mandarin, as he gazed out over the theater. It had been quite pretty once, before the stage had been turned into a boxing ring and stained with sweat and blood. He hoped that Mrs. Black couldn't hear him over the rumbling of the crowd and, if she could, didn't speak Jem's variation of Mandarin.

"Oh?" Jem asked, sounding for all the world like Will had just told him that the sky was blue as he gazed impassively at the audience.

"She called for me. In my native tongue." He had to circumvent the word "Welsh," because there was no Mandarin equivalent for it and, with his luck, Mrs. Dark would pick that word up beyond the din of the audience. "I would know it anywhere."

Jem nodded, but said no more. No more needed to be said. They were both scanning the audience for Cecily or some other sign of the Shadowhunters. There were far more people inside than it seemed the theater ought to be able to hold, and it was hard to make out any faces from this high up. Will itched for his stele, itched to draw a Far-Seeing rune on his arm. But the stele was hidden in Tessa's room, lest it be found on Jem's person and confiscated. He would have to make due.

He didn't have much of a chance. The lights dimmed only a minute later and, as if on cue, the crowd hushed. Then a brilliant flash of red that made them go ballistic. When Will was able to see past the spots dancing before his eyes, the first thing he saw was Jem's hands tightening into fists atop the box's railing. And then he saw why.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_Thanks to my anon reviewer, Eemmah, who I can't thank in a PM. I appreciate your review! :) _


	10. I Could Not Stop For Death

_Chapter 9: I Could Not Stop For Death_

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><p>Mortmain had appeared in the ring, his arms around Tessa and Anila. Will understood her reaction to the costume now. Both she and Anila had been dressed up like characters from <em>The Arabian Nights<em>, all sheer material and sparkling beads. And a lot of bare skin. He'd only ever seen that much skin on faerie women, who tended to clothe themselves in vines and flowers. He supposed that they were meant to look erotic, like the concubines of a sheik, and Anila played her part well. She had herself draped over Mortmain's arm, lascivious and alluring in shades of red and gold.

Tessa was entirely her opposite in demeanor and dress. Though she too wore the same skin bearing outfit, hers was all dark blue and silver. He couldn't see her eyes from the distance, but he imagined that the colors would set their dark grey off beautifully. She stood straight and as far away from Mortmain's body as she physically could while his arm was around her waist. Her chin was held high, her face impassive, despite the red cut that ran across one cheek, destroying the hours of work the stupid maid had put into painting her face.

The cut was the reason for Jem's tightened fists, Will was sure of it. When he saw her blood standing out brilliant and red against her pale skin, his hands had curled into fists too. While they weren't always of the same mind, neither of them had imagined a scenario where Tessa would show up to her match already bleeding. The fact that she already appeared at a disadvantage made him feel a little sick.

His angry pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the cries of the audience as the Magister paraded them around the ring. Spotlights danced across them, making the silver chains braided into Tessa's hair and the paint on her skin glitter. She maintained her composure as the jeers and catcalls started, something he couldn't accomplish himself. His right foot was already on the railing when Jem's hand closed on his arm, keeping him from launching himself into the lecherous audience. Jem jerked him back into his seat and glanced meaningfully over at the Dark Sister who was now watching them intently.

"What were you going to do?" Jem hissed as he threw himself into the seat next to him. "Fight the entire theater?"

"I actually figured you'd beat at least a few of them senseless too," Will muttered, glaring at the ring. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jem glance down at his rapidly bruising knuckles, but his _parabatai_ remained quiet.

Mortmain had finished parading the girls around the ring and led them back to center stage. There, he made an elaborate show of kissing each of their hands before bowing deeply and disappearing in red smoke. He appeared in their box a moment later, still bent at the waist. He straightened himself up, whipped a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and began to clean one of the rings on his right hand. When the handkerchief came away stained red, Will realized how Tessa had gotten cut before her match.

Several things happened at once. The bell initiating the fight rang at the same time as Jem jumped to his feet. Will jumped up in front of him a moment later and caught the warning shot of magic Mrs. Dark loosed when Jem stood in the chest. It wasn't particularly painful, but it was strong enough to knock Will back into Jem. Mortmain didn't look up from polishing his ring throughout the entire exchange, but as Will righted himself, he did glance at them.

"Now, now, gentlemen," he said in his slimily genial way, "let's try to behave ourselves, shall we? Do take your seats and try to take some notes about how to give your audience a proper show."

Behind him, Jem muttered some rather creative curses in Mandarin. In another time and another place, Will would have complimented him on his ingenuity, but his attention was only half on Jem. The rest of it was on the ring, where Tessa had just landed a well-placed blow between Anila's shoulder blades, a blow that ought to have sent the djinn sprawling to the other side of the ring in a tumble of gold and red silk.

But Anila was better trained than Will had assumed and she turned her sprawl into a graceful somersault that landed in a low crouch. Her lascivious attitude dropped in the middle of her somersault and when she rose to her feet again, she blazed with fury. He thought for a brief moment that he saw fire light the tips of her fingers, but then it was gone. Will raised his eyebrows and exchanged a look with Jem. Tessa hadn't mentioned anything about the djinn halfing having magic, but he supposed it was possible. He hoped he was wrong.

Anila didn't launch herself at Tessa this time. Instead she circled her, sizing her up from the edges of the ring. Tessa stood in the middle, spinning slowly in the middle, her hands raised in the most elegant defensive stance Will had ever seen. In a different setting, they could have been dancers in some exotic ballet.

It was Tessa who surprised him by striking out first. A kick to the knee that made Anila slip and allowed Tessa to follow up with a jab to the ribs. And then a blur of blue and red as Anila reacted, driving her shoulder into Tessa's stomach and knocking her to the mat. The audience wasn't able to delight her fall for long. Tessa rolled to her knees, but stayed low. When Anila tried to kick her head, Tessa's leg shot out in an attempt to sweep Anila to the ground. And while her leg made contact, Anila had better balance than Tessa had anticipated. She faltered but did not fall and her foot still managed to glance off Tessa's shoulder. Tessa didn't flinch, but the blow was too close to Tessa's ribs to make Will comfortable.

She rose from her crouch slowly, still elegant and impassive. If she was afraid or angry, it didn't show on her face. Anila snarled something at her, and held her hands up. Her fist were engulfed in twin balls of flame. Apparently Will wasn't wrong about the halfling having magic after all. _Goddamnit._

When Anila swung her flaming fist towards Tessa's face, she blocked it easily with one arm while the other drove her fist into Anila's stomach. The halfling doubled over and when she did, Tessa kicked her squarely in the jaw. Will caught sight of Tessa's arm, where the skin Anila had touched was already red and white with burns. Anila spat blood and launched herself at Tessa again.

Will saw it before Anila did, tried to cry out it warning, but the crowd was too loud. Tessa's right arm was up, blocking her face from the djinn's uppercut, when the halfling feinted and used her other arm to strike Tessa's exposed right side.

Tessa crumbled and Anila set on her like a wild animal. She kicked Tessa's stomach and then jumped on her, raining a volley of firey blows down on Tessa's head and neck. Tessa tried to block her, but Anila had one of her knees on Tessa's upper right arm and her left wasn't nearly as strong. She kicked out her legs, but they found no purchase as Anila continued to beat her. Eventually, even her left arm dropped.

Will felt his breath leave him. The idea of a red match had only been a vague one until now. He hadn't put all the pieces together in his head before. He hadn't envisioned that the match would continue after one of them drew first blood or was knocked unconscious. He had always assumed Tessa would be the one to win, that there was no chance of her dying.

And yet there she was, lying on the mat impossibly still, her body bent at a strange angle. The entire room had gone still, as if they too were straining to hear her breath. He hadn't realized that Jem had grabbed him earlier, but now his _parabatai_'s hand gripped his arm too tightly. Even Mortmain was tense, literally sitting on the edge of his seat as he watched the match unfold. Will was suddenly lightheaded. The only thing he could feel was Jem's fingers digging into his arm. The rest of his body felt numb. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

And then she Changed. All at once Tessa's hair turned blonde and gold ink sparkled beneath the silver paint on her skin. Anila's body didn't hurt from broken ribs, wasn't weakened from being beat and burnt. And Anila was just a bit bigger than Tessa was, a bit stronger. In Anila's body, Tessa had another chance.

Tessa took advantage of Anila's shock. She drew her arm back and struck Anila across the face with her elbow. The blow was hard enough to knock the woman off of her. Now Tessa moved quickly, jumping to her feet and driving her knee into Anila's face. Every time Anila made a move, Tessa was there to block it, her fists just as firey and fast as Anila's were.

Anila adjusted to fighting herself quickly, but she must not have known about Tessa's additional ability, for Tessa was able to continue landing flaming punches. Soon the scent of burning hair and skin wafted up to Mortmain's box, making Will nauseous.

Anila fell to her knees and Tessa took her opportunity. In the same motion, she Changed back into herself and snapped Anila's neck. It was so quick that Will almost didn't see it happen. Anila slumped to the ground, lifeless. The crowd screamed, both in delight and horror. Mortmain raised his eyebrows, exchanged a look with the warlock woman and disappeared.

When he appeared on-stage to raise Tessa's fist in victory, Will realized that she was hurt more badly than he'd thought. She now that she was herself again, he could see that she was incredibly bloody and burnt, the silver paint on her skin nearly completely obscured by dark crimson. She managed to stay on her feet while Mortmain paraded her around the ring, but Will was sure she was struggling to stay upright.

"Time to go, gentlemen." It was Mrs. Dark, rubbing her hands together. "Pity the shapeshifter didn't die, isn't it?"

Will had to bite his tongue to keep himself quiet. Next to him, Jem went completely stiff with anger, but managed to speak: "What will happen to her now?"

She grabbed both of their arms and a dizzying instant later, they were back at the door to their room in the caves. "None of your concern, my little angelboy."

"We are rewarded for winning our fights, are we not?" Jem asked, appearing completely unphased by their sudden appearance in the cavern. "I do believe that we are owed our prize then."

She paused, already halfway down the hall. "Indeed."

"We require more than one bed in this room. We tire of arguing over who had to sleep on the chaise."

She didn't show any sign that she'd heard and soon vanished into the labyrinth. Jem watched her for a long moment, shrugged, and turned to enter their room, already tugging on the hem of his shirt to pull it off.

"What the hell?" Will asked, following his _parabatai_ into their room. "In fact, what the hell on several different accounts…"

Jem had already peeled himself out of the costume gear and had set his slim fingers to work on the buckles of his actual gear. "She wasn't going to tell us anything about Tessa, so I didn't bother to pursue it." He flung the rest of his gear aside, so he only wore a light linen shirt that stuck his body with sweat. "And we could use an extra bed, especially if we want to keep an eye on Tessa."

There wasn't anything that Jem had said that didn't make perfect sense. Nothing in his tone that convey anything other than simple logic. And yet he was evading the question that Will hadn't really asked, but had been implied and Jem _knew _what was implied and that evasion made Will angry.

"What the hell happened to you before our match?" Will spoke slowly and enunciated each word, leaving no room for interpretation.

"Mrs. Dark presented me with more _yin fen_. She would have put you in a red match if I hadn't taken it," Jem replied simply. "I had no choice."

All of the fear, anger, horror and shock that Will had been suppressing bubbled to the surface and burst out of him. Without knowing what else to do, he turned around and punched the stone wall behind him, hard enough to crack the small bones in his hand. "You _always _have a choice, damn you!"

Jem didn't reply right away, but moved to retrieve his stele from where they'd hidden it earlier beneath the chaise cushions. He watched Will with too-bright eyes for a moment, before taking his broken hand.

"Would you have sent me to a red match then, if our situations were reversed?"

Will let his _parabatai_ draw _iratzes_ on his arm. He knew that Jem didn't need an answer. Of course he would have done whatever was necessary to keep Jem out of harm's way. Of course Jem would feel the same way.

"Just so you know, I would have come out of a red match just fine," he said instead. "In fact, they would have had to change the color scheme around entirely after watching me in a red match. Made it something more fitting. Perhaps emerald."

Jem smiled, handing Will the stele so he could give him an _iratze_ for his bruised knuckles. "Naturally."

* * *

><p>Several hours passed before they brought Tessa back. By then Jem had began the initial withdrawal from the <em>yin fen<em> and Will had forced him into bed as soon as he'd noticed. Jem had insisted that all he needed was rest and waved off the _iratzes_ Will tried to apply to his arms and neck, leaving his _parabatai_ to pace worriedly in front of the fire.

"Read a book," Jem finally said after almost an hour, his eyes still closed.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Will retorted.

"How could anyone sleep with you making a ruckus like that?" Jem asked, opening his eyes slowly. In all honesty, it was his body aching and crying for more of the drug that kept him awake, but if Will knew that he would lose his mind.

Will had been about to reply when the door opened and the lackey brought Tessa in. For a horrifying instant, Jem thought she was dead. She lay limp in the menservant's arms, her limbs swinging and her head lolling to one side. Her eyes were open and staring blankly and she didn't make a sound as the man dumped her unceremoniously on the chaise. She still wore the tattered remains of her costume, though it was no longer blue and silver where it hadnt been burnt away completely. In the firelight, Jem could see that there was still blood on her face, but that the gash on her cheek was gone.

"Has she been given medical attention? What's wrong with her?" Will shouted as he rushed to her side. But the man, having done his duty, turned on his heel and left. Without thinking, Jem jumped out of bed and tried to chase him into the hall, only to find that he'd disappeared into the labyrinth.

When he returned, winded and his legs were shaking so hard that he let himself lean against the doorframe and observe them while he regained his strength. Will had wrapped a blanket around Tessa and was kneeling next to her, his hand on her cheek, murmuring softly to her. She shifted her gaze to focus on him and blinked before turning her face away into the arm of the chaise. Will didn't let that phase him. He kept talking to her in a voice gentler than Jem had ever heard him use:

"Tess, I just need to know if you're still hurt. That's all." She turned her head back in Will's direction. The emptiness in her eyes made Jem ache for completely different reasons than he had only a minute before. Will took her movement as acknowledgement and continued in the same low voice, "You don't have to talk, just let me make sure you're alright. Can you do that?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly and sat up, slowly as if it was a great effort. Jem watched in fascination as Will wrapped the blanket more securely around her and then gently ran his fingers over her face, neck, arms, and legs, subtly checking for injuries. He was actually crooning something softly in Welsh, a lullaby perhaps? Jem couldn't quite make out all the words. She remained entirely inexpressive under his touch, staring off into the air beyond his shoulder at some sight unseen. With one final pass over her arms, Will sat back on his heels and quieted. They sat like that for a long minute, the fire crackling in the grate the only sound in the room.

"Would you like me to wash away the blood?"

She nodded again, but still wouldn't look him in the eye. Jem wondered how many she'd killed before tonight. He tried to imagine the kind of shock she must have experienced the first time, especially from a girl who'd been raised as a mundane and taught that ladies were not supposed to feel more than the most mild of emotions, much less blood lust or the battle rage. Now that he gave it more thought, it was amazing that she had as much self-possession as she did. A weaker person would have shattered under the pressure ages ago.

Tessa held perfectly still as Will wiped the blood from her face, and then the silver paint beneath the blood. When the rag was filthy with blood and makeup and her face was clean again, he set the cloth aside and began to work her hair out of the elaborate hairstyle it had been knotted into, even though he hadn't asked. But it seemed like she came back to herself a little more with every pin that dropped to the floor and every lock of her hair that fell to her shoulders. By the time her hair was loose again, the light had come back into her eyes, faint but finally there.

"Thank you," she whispered. And then she collapsed in tears.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_I truly am sorry about last week's cliff that wasn't really a cliff. It was either that or make this chapter and that one the same chapter and I didn't have the stamina to write all of that at once. This story has had a few more cliffhangers than I actually like in my fanfiction, but what can you do? My apologies to my annonymous reviewer, Eemmah, for the cliffhanger. I hope this very subdued chapter ending makes up for it. _


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